Desire (wlw)

XXXIV.

Lea

The silence in the car was deafening, broken only by the faint hum of the tires against the road. Isabel sat beside me, her head leaning against the window, her profile softened by the glow of the passing streetlights. Lucia was driving, her face unreadable, eyes fixed on the road ahead. I should've been focused on Isabel—she'd just said goodbye to her father forever, and I knew she needed me.

But my head wouldn't stop spinning.

I gripped the hem of my dress with clammy fingers, twisting it in my lap. The weight of my encounter with my dad was pressing down on me, crushing me slowly. His words kept replaying in my mind like a broken record. "You're wasting your potential." "You've made your choice." His face, his tone, the way he looked at me—like I was some stranger he'd written off—was etched into the backs of my eyelids.

I felt betrayed, not just by his words but by how little he cared, how easy it was for him to walk away. It shouldn't have surprised me, but it still hurt. My whole life, I'd been chasing something from him—approval, acknowledgment, love—and in one swift moment, he made it clear I'd never have it.

I tried to push the thoughts away, to focus on Isabel instead. She was quiet, her gaze unfocused, and I could see the strain in the set of her jaw, the way her shoulders sagged ever so slightly. She was grieving, and I should've been comforting her, saying something—anything—but I couldn't seem to find my voice.

Instead, the car felt suffocating.

"Are you girls hungry?" Lucia's voice broke through the silence, gentle but distant.

"No," Isabel said softly, barely above a whisper. Her mom glanced at me through the rearview mirror, a flicker of concern in her eyes, but I just shook my head.

I hated myself for letting my thoughts spiral like this when Isabel was right here, needing me, but I couldn't help it. My dad's words felt like a wound I couldn't stop pressing on, even though it hurt more every time. Cut off. Don't call me when this all falls apart.

What if it did fall apart? What if I wasn't enough—not for my career, not for Isabel, not for anyone?

My chest tightened, and I felt Isabel shift beside me, her knee brushing against mine. The contact jolted me slightly, pulling me out of my thoughts, but only for a moment.

When we finally pulled up to Lucia's house, I felt a wave of relief at the sight of it, even though I wasn't sure why. Maybe it was the promise of space, or maybe it was just the exhaustion catching up to me. Lucia parked the car and sighed, breaking the silence once again.

"We're here," she said softly, as though the words might shatter us if spoken too loudly.

Isabel didn't move right away, and neither did I. For a moment, we both just sat there, the weight of the day hanging between us. Then, with a small, shaky exhale, Isabel unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the door.

As I stepped out of the car, the cool evening air brushed against my skin, carrying with it the faint scent of lavender from the well-manicured garden that lined the driveway. My gaze was immediately drawn to the house—a two-story masterpiece that mirrored Lucia's elegance in every detail.

The exterior was painted a soft, creamy beige, with dark brown shutters framing each window. Warm, golden light spilled out from behind sheer curtains, giving the place a welcoming glow. The porch stretched across the front of the house, adorned with neatly arranged potted plants and a pair of black rocking chairs that looked like they had never been used but were placed there simply because they completed the picture.

The front door was a rich mahogany, polished to a high shine, with an intricate brass knocker shaped like a lion's head. Above it, a hanging lantern cast a soft light over the steps, illuminating the clean lines of the brick pathway that led up to the entrance. The windows on the second floor were tall and arched, their panes reflecting the faint glow of the streetlights.