blurred lines in a forbidden fairytale

{37} lost my balance on a tight rope, oh it's never too late to get it back

April 2017
Taylor's POV:

The early April air is cool but sweet, the faint smell of blooming flowers drifting in on a gentle breeze. I run along the path winding through the park, my sneakers crunching against gravel still damp from yesterday's rain. The sun filters through the budding trees, casting dappled shadows across the ground. It's beautiful, peaceful even, but my mind is far from quiet.

Every stride feels heavier than the last. I'm not out here for fitness, maybe a little but even more I'm out here to escape the gnawing guilt, the restless thoughts, and the relentless pull of the past. My chest tightens, not just from exertion, but from the weight of wondering—always wondering—where she is. What she looks like. If she's happy.

My phone vibrates against my arm, snapping me out of my trance. I slow to a jog, then stop completely, hands on my knees as I catch my breath. Who could be calling? The number isn't saved, but something in me knows. My heart skips as I fumble to unstrap the phone from its holder.

"Hello?" I answer, my voice a little breathless.

"Ms. Swift?" The voice is steady, professional.

"Yes."

"This is Mark Reed. The private investigator."

My legs feel like jelly. I sit down on the nearest bench, gripping the phone tightly. "Hi," I manage, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I have some news," he says, pausing like he's trying to gauge how much I can handle in this moment.
The world feels too loud and too quiet all at once. Birds chirp in the trees above me, children laugh in the distance, and a lawnmower hums somewhere nearby. But all I can hear is the rush of blood in my ears.

"What did you find?" My voice shakes, betraying the fragile thread of hope I've tried so hard to contain.

"I found her."
The words hit me like a gust of wind, nearly knocking the breath out of me. I sit back on the bench, staring at the path ahead of me but seeing nothing.
"She's living in a small town about thirty miles north of here," he continues, his tone careful. "Her adoptive parents are Lucy and Daniel Bloomington. The daughter you gave up...her name is Sarah now."

Sarah. Her name is Sarah. The name echoes in my mind, sinking into the cracks of my heart.

"She's seven, almost eight," he says softly. "She is in second grade. She's doing well, from what I can tell."
Tears blur my vision as he speaks, but I can't let myself cry here, in the middle of this park. Not yet.

"Do you have an address?" My voice comes out steadier than I expect.

"I do," he says. "But before I give it to you, I have to remind you to proceed carefully. Reaching out directly could be seen as invasive. I'd advise going through proper channels first."

I nod even though he can't see me, the weight of his words settling over me. "I understand. Thank you, Mr. Reed."

"I'll send you everything I've gathered," he says. "It's up to you where to go from here. Good luck, Ms. Swift."

The call ends, leaving me clutching the phone as if it holds the answers to everything.

She's real. She has a life, a family, a new name.

I look down at my hands, trembling slightly, and take a deep, shaky breath. Around me, spring blooms in earnest—the grass is vibrant, the trees sway gently in the breeze, and the sun is warm on my face.
The phone feels heavy in my hand as I scroll through my contacts and tap on Aurora's name. I haven't seen her in two weeks, not since her mother decided to lock her world down. She is alowed to go to school again but that's it. Her parents are watching her like hawks. Two weeks of texts, stolen phone calls, and aching to see her face. But today—today, I have something I can't keep to myself.