blurred lines in a forbidden fairytale

{36} breathe in, breathe through, breathe deep, breathe out

Taylor's POV:

My heart sinks as his words settle. If I do this, I could be putting her in the middle of a storm she never asked for. I've already made her life difficult once, the day I decided to give her up, and the thought of forcing myself back into her world feels selfish. Yet, the idea of never knowing, of letting this one chance slip away, feels unbearable.

"I... I need to think about it, Mr. Kern," I say finally, barely keeping my voice steady. "Thank you for calling. I'll get back to you."

When I hang up, I find myself staring at the phone, feeling the weight of it in my hand. Aurora touches my arm gently, her eyes full of concern.

"Is everything okay?" she asks, her voice soft.

I look up at her, feeling the rawness of it all flooding over me. "He found... something," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "But it's not simple. I'd have to go through a private investigator, and it could... it could cause problems for her and her family. I don't know if it's fair to force myself into her world like that."

Aurora takes my hands in hers, grounding me with her steady gaze. "Taylor, whatever you decide, I'll be here. I know this is huge, and it's okay to feel scared."

Her words soothe some of the turmoil inside me, but the decision still feels impossible. If I move forward, I risk disrupting her life in ways I can't control. But if I don't, I might regret it forever. It's like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing that whatever I choose, there's no way back.

The next few days blur together, a mix of restless nights and uncertain days. Hiring a private investigator feels both terrifying and necessary. I keep the phone number Mr. Kern gave me tucked inside the drawer of my nightstand, pulling it out every so often to stare at it as though it might reveal some kind of answer.

Aurora visits every afternoon, sneaking in after school, making sure to serve her parents the most believable lies, her presence the only thing keeping me anchored. Despite everything happening, her eyes still light up when she sees me, and it's a small reminder that I am not alone in this.

On Tuesday, we're sitting on the couch, her hand resting lightly on my knee while I read through the investigator's website on my laptop. Aurora leans closer, her chin brushing my shoulder as she peers at the screen.

"You're really going to do this?" she asks, her voice quiet but curious.

I nod, swallowing hard. "I think I have to. If I don't, I'll regret it for the rest of my life."

She doesn't say anything at first, but I feel her fingers tighten on my knee. "What if..." She hesitates, her voice faltering. "What if she doesn't want to know you?"

The question stings, but it's one I've already asked myself a dozen times. "I'd rather know she's safe and happy than keep living with these what-ifs," I say, my mind made up, my voice steadier than I feel.

Aurora presses her lips to my shoulder—a brief but comforting touch—and I can't help but turn to look at her. Her face is so close, her expression so earnest, and before I can think better of it, I close the gap between us.

The kiss is soft at first, hesitant, but then her hands slide up to cup my face, and it deepens. My laptop slips off my lap and thuds onto the carpet, but I don't care. All that matters is the way Aurora feels against me, the way her touch makes the world fade away.

When we finally pull back, she's smiling, her cheeks flushed. "Sorry," she whispers, though she doesn't look sorry at all.

I shake my head, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Don't apologize."