YOU ARE MY LIGHT

CHAPTER 16 : LETTING GO

I watched their backs until they disappeared from sight.

Something was shifting.

I could feel it — the quiet beginning of something I wasn’t ready to name.

The air felt different. Lighter. Or maybe heavier. I couldn’t tell.

I turned and walked toward Mum’s room, knocking softly before stepping inside.

“Mum,” I called gently, taking a seat beside her bed.

“Juliet… you’re here.”

“Yes.” I smiled. “I wanted to see how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine.” But her voice lacked conviction. Her eyes searched my face carefully, as if reading between invisible lines. “Are you okay?”

I kept my smile small. Controlled. “Yes, Mum. I’m okay. Why are you asking?”

She hesitated only a second.

“I heard Vincent’s girlfriend is back.”

The words were spoken calmly.

But they still landed.

I let out a light laugh, hoping it sounded natural. “Since when do you listen to rumors?”

“I listen when it concerns my daughter.”

I reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. “We’re not even sure she’s his girlfriend. People assume things all the time. Please don’t think too much about it.”

She studied me for a long moment — as if deciding whether to believe my calm tone or my eyes.

“Instead of cutting things off,” she said softly, “talk things through first.”

Her words weren’t about Vincent alone.

They were about life. About regrets. About things left unsaid.

“I will,” I promised quietly.

Her gaze softened. “I just want you to be happy, Juliet. That’s all.”

Something tightened in my chest. I swallowed it down.

“Mum… have you spoken to Dad?”

The softness disappeared from her face. Her fingers grew still in mine.

“Yes,” she said slowly. “But he wants to talk to you first.”

My heartbeat stumbled.

“Okay,” I whispered. “I’ll talk to him.”

She squeezed my hand again. “Be careful.”

I nodded and stepped out.

The hallway felt colder than before.

I leaned against the wall for a second, closing my eyes.

Is today the day I finally say everything I buried?

I didn’t know.

But my feet were already moving toward his room.

Each step felt heavier than the last.

I knocked.

“Come in.”

I pushed the door open.

And froze.

The divorce file sat on the table.

Waiting.

A silent verdict.

“Stay calm,” I told myself. “You’re here for Mum.”

“Juliet,” Dad said quietly, gesturing toward the chair. “Sit.”

I sat down slowly.

My hands trembled slightly as I took the chair, my chest tight.

I couldn’t remember the last time it was just the two of us like this — without shouting, without tension, without Mum standing between us.

“How are you?” I asked.

“I’m okay… I’ll be discharged tomorrow.”

I nodded.

His eyes moved toward the file.

“Your mother sent this.”

Silence stretched between us, thick and unsteady.

“Were you the one who suggested it?” he asked.

I met his eyes directly. “Yes.”

No hiding. Not today.

“I just want both of you to be happy.”

He exhaled deeply — the sound of a man setting down years of pride.

“Juliet… I know I failed as a father.”

The words hit harder than I expected.

I had prepared myself for anger.

For defensiveness.

For excuses.

Not this.

“But I am still your father,” he continued, voice rougher now. “And if signing this gives you peace… I will sign it.”

My throat tightened painfully.

“I know I made you the kind of woman who struggles to trust men,” he said. “And for that, I am sorry.”

Tears blurred my vision.

For years, I had imagined confronting him. Telling him how much it hurt. Asking why love in our house always sounded like war.

Now the words I had rehearsed dissolved into nothing.

“But don’t let my mistakes shape your future,” he said gently. “Don’t close your heart because of what you saw here. Love is not what I showed you.”

I swallowed hard.

He picked up the pen.

Signed.

The scratch of ink against paper sounded louder than it should have.

Final.

The weight I’d carried for years finally lifted, though a part of me still ached.

He stared at his signature for a long moment. His hand trembled slightly.

It was just ink.

But it felt like the end of something heavy that had been pressing on my chest for years.

And then—

He cried.

Not quietly.

Not carefully.

He cried like a man who had held everything in for too long and no longer knew how to stop.

He never cried when Mum cried.

He never cried when I stood in front of him pretending I was strong.

But he cried now.

“I’m sorry, Juliet,” he said hoarsely, handing me the file. “For everything.”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

It was all I could manage.

I stood.

“Juliet.”

I turned back.

“I can’t face your mother,” he admitted. “Can you tell her… I’m sorry?”

He didn’t look at me when he said it.

I nodded slowly. “I will.”

I left before my tears betrayed me.

Mum was asleep when I returned.

Or maybe she was pretending.

I placed the signed file quietly on the table and stepped out again.

No dramatic goodbye.

No final speech.

Just silence.

On my way home, I felt strangely light.

No thoughts of Vincent.

No thoughts of Dora.

No jealousy.

Just relief.

Not joy.

Relief.

Space to breathe.

At home, I lay on my bed and stared at the ceiling.

“So Mum is finally free,” I whispered.

The words felt unfamiliar.

Relief came — but it wasn’t happiness.

It was quiet.

Like a door closing.

Like something heavy finally being set down.

I reached into my bag for my phone — and noticed something else.

Chocolate.

The one Vincent and the old woman had given me.

I smiled despite myself.

It felt like a small reward from the universe.

I unwrapped it and took a bite.

“Chocolate really does make people happy,” I murmured.

It was a childish thought.

But it helped.

My phone buzzed.

A message.

Vincent.

“Juliet, I’m downstairs. Can you come down?”

My heart reacted before my mind did.

I rushed to the window and pulled the curtain slightly aside.

He was there.

Standing beside his car.

Waiting.

“What is he doing here?” I muttered.

I checked my reflection in the mirror.

A nervous habit.

“Juliet, calm down,” I scolded myself softly.

I fixed my hair.

Took a breath.

And forced myself to act normal.

When I reached downstairs, he was holding out a file.

“Juliet,” he said evenly. “I came to drop this off and remind you about tomorrow’s surgery.”

I noticed the way his shoulders tensed when he saw me—was he worried I’d scold him?

I took it.

But something didn’t sit right.

He drove all the way here… just for a file?

“You could have sent it,” I said gently. “You didn’t have to come.”

There it was.

That tiny pause.

“I was already nearby,” he replied, almost too casually. “So I decided to give it to you myself.”

An excuse.

The kind people use when they don’t want to admit the real reason.

I looked away. “Thank you. But you didn’t need to stress yourself.”

“It’s fine.”

But his eyes lingered.

A second too long.

Like he was waiting.

Like he hadn’t said everything he meant to.

He cleared his throat.

“I’m hungry.”

I blinked.

I noticed a hint of uncertainty in his tone, so unlike the confident CEO everyone admired.

“I haven’t eaten since surgery.”

The timing.

The tone.

It sounded like he was searching for a reason to stay.

What about Dora? I wondered. The one who always eats with her “Mr. Handsome and Mean.”

“And I don’t want to eat with someone else,” he added quietly.

As if he had heard my thoughts.

That line lingered between us.

I looked at him carefully.

He didn’t look like the composed CEO everyone admired.

He looked uncertain.

Almost vulnerable.

Like someone asking without asking.

I smiled before I could stop myself.

“Besides,” he continued, “I stood in line for hours to buy cake and bread for someone… and she shared it without even tasting it.”

I laughed softly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“Then pay me back with your time,” he said, opening the passenger door.

The invitation wasn’t just about dinner.

And we both knew it.