Chapter Six: The Things That Don’t Stay Buried
760 Words
Sophia had learned, over the years, how to live with certain feelings by not naming them.
Some things survived better in silence.
She stood alone in the kitchen early that morning, the house still half-asleep, sunlight slipping through the windows in pale strips. Miguel’s suitcase rested near the door, neatly packed—two weeks away this time. Another trip. Another stretch of distance disguised as duty.
She wrapped her fingers around her mug, letting the warmth steady her.
It had been three days since Elena arrived.
Three days since something old and unwanted had twisted quietly in her stomach.
Sophia exhaled.
She had felt it the first time she saw her properly—not as a child returning home, but as a woman stepping into herself. Taller. Quieter. Watching everything with those observant eyes. It wasn’t attraction, not in the reckless sense. It was recognition. Familiar and dangerous.
Sophia had ignored it.
She always did.
Miguel entered the kitchen, already dressed, phone in hand. “The car’s here,” he said. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
She smiled easily, stepping closer to straighten his collar. “Two weeks,” she corrected gently.
He chuckled. “You’ll survive without me.”
She had survived worse.
Miguel kissed her cheek, grabbed his bag, and paused. “Keep an eye on Elena. Make sure she doesn’t drown herself in that pool.”
Sophia smiled again. “I will.”
When the door finally closed behind him, the house settled into a stillness that felt unfamiliar. Too open. Too quiet.
Sophia stood there longer than necessary, listening to the echo of his absence.
Only then did she allow herself to think of Elena.
She knew Elena’s schedule already—morning swims, afternoons spent reading or writing, evenings wandering the house like she didn’t quite belong to it yet. She knew Elena trained three days a week. Not consecutively. Monday. Wednesday. Friday.
Sophia told herself it was coincidence that she remembered.
By the second day of Miguel’s trip, the feeling returned stronger.
Elena passed her in the hallway after training, hair damp, shoulders relaxed, cheeks flushed from exertion. She smelled faintly of chlorine and something softer underneath. Their eyes met, just briefly, and Sophia felt it again—that twist. Sharp and disorienting.
She turned away too quickly.
That night, Sophia lay awake beside an empty space on the bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering when exactly the feeling had stopped being manageable.
By the third day, she knew it was pointless to pretend it wasn’t there.
Elena sat at the kitchen island that afternoon, still in her swim hoodie, scrolling absently on her phone. Sophia busied herself with slicing fruit, focusing on the rhythm of the knife against the board.
“You’re back earlier today,” Sophia said, keeping her voice neutral.
“Coach cancelled the second set,” Elena replied. “Said I needed rest.”
Sophia nodded. Rest. The word lingered.
She glanced at Elena without meaning to. The way she leaned forward slightly. The way her brow furrowed when she read something. The way she bit her lip absentmindedly.
Sophia looked away.
This is nothing, she told herself. This passes.
But it didn’t.
That evening, Sophia stood in the shower longer than usual, letting hot water run down her back, trying to rinse away thoughts she didn’t want. She pressed her palms against the tiles and breathed deeply, grounding herself in the present.
She had chosen safety. Stability. Survival.
She had buried other versions of herself long ago.
And yet, Elena’s presence had begun to disturb the careful order she had built. Not through action. Not through words. Just by existing. By looking at her like she was something worth noticing.
Sophia dried off, dressed, and went downstairs to find Elena curled on the couch, legs tucked beneath her, a book open but forgotten.
Their eyes met again.
Something passed between them—quiet, restrained, unspoken.
Sophia smiled first, gentle and practiced. Elena returned it, softer, uncertain.
Sophia turned away.
Later that night, alone again, she sat at the edge of the bed and finally admitted the truth she had been avoiding.
The feelings had never left.
They had only been waiting.
And with Miguel gone, with the house quieter, with Elena swimming in and out of her days like a tide, Sophia wasn’t sure how much longer she could pretend they were buried.
Some things didn’t stay hidden forever.
Some things resurfaced—
slowly,
inevitably,
when the water was calm enough to see clearly beneath it
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD