What We Left in the Dark

Forty Eight

The drive to the Catskills felt like a desperate exhale after holding my breath for too long. The roads wound through quiet towns and towering trees, each mile putting more distance between me and the chaos I'd left behind. But no matter how far I went, the knots in my stomach refused to loosen.

When I finally pulled up to my parents' house, the familiar sight of the rustic, weathered home nestled in the woods brought a faint wave of comfort. The porch light flickered slightly, glowing against the deepening dusk.

The door opened before I could knock, and my mom stepped out, her warm smile softening the ache in my chest. Her arms opened wide, pulling me into a hug that felt like a balm to my frayed nerves.

"Cat! What a surprise," she said, holding me tightly. "What brings you all the way out here, honey?"

I stepped back, forcing a small smile. "I just... needed to get away for a bit."

She didn't ask for more. She didn't have to. With a quiet nod, she ushered me inside, the scent of lavender and woodsmoke wrapping around me like a blanket. The house hadn't changed—every detail felt like a time capsule from my childhood.

"Come, sit," Mom said, already heading for the kettle. "You look like you could use some tea."

I sank into one of the worn kitchen chairs, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly as I watched her move with practiced ease. Within minutes, she placed a steaming mug in front of me, the faint aroma of chamomile calming me further.

She sat down across from me, her gaze warm but curious. "You've got that look, Cat," she said, tilting her head. "The one that says you've got a lot on your mind."

I hesitated, running my fingers along the edge of the mug. "I'm... stuck, Mom. Between two people. Two paths, really."

Her brow furrowed, but she stayed silent, waiting for me to continue.

"One of them is... familiar. Comfortable, in a way, but intense. Complicated. The other is steady. Safe. Someone who would never hurt me." I paused, the words catching in my throat. "I don't know what to do. I feel like no matter what I choose, someone's going to get hurt. Maybe even me."

Mom leaned back in her chair, studying me carefully. "And which one are you leaning toward?" she asked gently.

I shook my head, frustration bubbling up. "I don't know. One feels like... fire. Like passion and excitement and everything that makes you feel alive. But the other feels like... like peace. Like I could finally breathe."

Her expression softened, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. "Ah," she said quietly. "You're drawn to the fire."

The simple statement made me freeze. "How do you know?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"There's a reason a moth is drawn to a flame," she said, leaning forward slightly. "It's not looking for comfort. It's looking for heat, for life. Even if it knows the fire might burn, it can't resist."

Her words settled heavily over me, and I looked down at the mug in my hands, the steam curling up into the air. "So what are you saying? That I should ignore it?"

"I'm saying you need to understand why you're drawn to it," she said. "Are you chasing the fire because it's what you truly want, or because it's what makes you feel alive? There's a difference."

The words cut deeper than I wanted to admit. "And what if it's both?"

"Then you have to decide if the fire is worth the risk," she said, her tone gentle but firm. "Sometimes, what makes us feel alive isn't what helps us survive. But that doesn't mean it's not worth chasing."

I swallowed hard, the truth of her words settling like stones in my chest. "And what about the safe option? The steady one?"

Mom gave a small shrug. "There's nothing wrong with choosing peace, Cat. But don't choose it out of fear. Choose it because it's what you want, not because it's what you think you should want."

Her advice was simple, yet it carried the weight of everything I'd been wrestling with. "I don't know if I can make that choice right now," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

"You don't have to," she said, reaching across the table to place her hand over mine. "But whatever you choose, make sure it's something you can live with. Don't let fear make the decision for you."

I nodded, the lump in my throat making it hard to speak. "Thanks, Mom."

She smiled, her thumb brushing lightly over my knuckles. "You'll figure it out, Cat. Just trust yourself."

Later that night, as I lay in the quiet stillness of my childhood room, her words echoed in my mind. The flame and the moth. Passion versus peace. Love versus survival.

The next morning, I woke to the soft sounds of birdsong drifting through the open window. The crisp mountain air filled my lungs as I stretched lazily, savoring the rare moment of peace. For the first time in what felt like ages, I wasn't rushing to meet a deadline or fighting to suppress the overwhelming tide of emotions that came with being back in the city.

I padded out of my room in bare feet, the wooden floor cool beneath me. My mom was already in the kitchen, her back to me as she prepared breakfast. 

"Morning," I said, my voice still husky with sleep.

She turned, smiling warmly as she slid a plate of eggs and toast onto the table. "Morning, sweetheart. Sleep okay?"

I nodded, pouring myself a cup of coffee and sitting down. "Yeah, I did. Better than I have in weeks, actually."

She placed a hand on her hip, studying me. "That's good to hear. Staying a few days?"

"Yeah," I said, almost shyly. "I think I need it. I didn't bring my work laptop, so it's just me and my phone for now. It's the weekend, so I can get away with it."

"Good," she said, sliding into the chair across from me. "You need a break. You're carrying too much, Cat."

Her words hung in the air, a reminder of how much I'd been trying to balance—work, New York, Gian, Luca. Leaving the city had felt like shedding an invisible weight, layers of stress and responsibility falling away as soon as I crossed the state line.

The detachment felt indulgent, almost foreign. No stress from work emails pinging constantly, no pressure from the swirling chaos of my life in the city, no Ricci brothers tugging at my heart in two different directions. For the first time in years, I felt untethered, free to simply exist without an immediate agenda or lingering dread.

"Do you have plans today?" my mom asked, breaking the silence.

I shook my head, taking a sip of coffee. "No, just... this. The quiet. It's nice."

She smiled, reaching over to squeeze my hand. "Then enjoy it. You've earned it."