Episode15
1152 Words
Two Years Ago
The night Clara had shown up at Lucas’s doorstep, mascara running down her face and a trembling hand clutching her phone, Lucas had known—something irreversible had happened.
“I’m pregnant,” she whispered. “And I think it’s yours.”
Lucas remembered the pause that followed, long and suffocating. He had blinked, processing, his mouth dry, his heart hammering with a million possibilities.
“You think it’s mine?” he had asked carefully.
Clara had looked away, ashamed. “I—I wasn’t exclusive. But the timing… it makes sense. I’m scared, Lucas.”
He had stepped back instinctively, the emotional walls rising. “You should get a paternity test before we talk about next steps.”
The words had come out colder than he intended, but the uncertainty cut deep. Lucas wasn’t one to gamble with lives—not his, and certainly not a child’s.
Clara had left in tears.
Over the next few weeks, she tried to contact him, but Lucas kept his distance. He felt paralyzed—trapped between guilt and suspicion. The paternity test was delayed. By the time it finally arrived, the truth was blunt: Lucas wasn’t the father.
But the damage had already carved itself into their story. Clara never forgave him for pulling away. And Lucas… never forgave himself for the way he did it.
Present Day
Lucas sat across from his father in the grand study of their family estate. Shelves lined with law books and family portraits framed the conversation with a heaviness that matched the mood.
“I received a call from Clara’s attorney,” his father, Martin Caldwell, said, adjusting his reading glasses. “They wanted to clarify that you were not the legal father of the child.”
Lucas nodded. “I know.”
“You could have told me.”
“I didn’t see the point,” Lucas replied. “It was already over.”
Martin exhaled deeply and stood, walking toward the window. “You’re lucky it wasn’t true. An heir born out of scandal… it would have shaken more than your reputation.”
Lucas bit back a retort. “You mean it would’ve embarrassed you.”
“I mean it would have changed everything,” Martin said, turning sharply. “Your career. Your name. And now, you're tangled up with a college girl who’s been involved with your brother?”
Lucas stood. “That ‘college girl’ is none of your business.”
“She is when your name is attached to hers,” Martin snapped. “Lucas, you’re supposed to be the stable one. The heir. And yet, your past is filled with more chaos than I ever expected.”
Lucas's voice was low, sharp. “You raised us to bury feelings, to wear success like armor, and never show weakness. Then you’re surprised we’re all broken?”
Martin stared at him, eyes hard. “You need to think carefully about what you’re doing, son. Don’t let guilt make you reckless.”
“I’m not guilty about Clara,” Lucas said, his voice firm. “I’m guilty that I waited too long to become someone who takes responsibility. I won’t repeat that mistake with Marilyn.”
Martin gave a long look—less disapproval now, more curiosity. But he said nothing more.
Lucas turned and walked out, done with silent legacies and inherited pride.
Meanwhile, Back at Campus
Marilyn sat on the edge of her bed, highlighters scattered across her open textbooks. The sunlight filtered through sheer curtains, and a half-finished cup of coffee sat beside her. It had gone cold an hour ago.
Her phone vibrated, and her heart leapt. For a second, she thought it might be Lucas. He’d been texting, gently, with space between each message, giving her room to breathe. But it wasn’t him. Just a study group reminder.
She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
It had been three days since she slapped Xavier, since Cathy’s words burned themselves into her memory like a scar. Rumors had swirled through campus like wildfire. Some people looked at her with pity. Others with judgment.
But she had made a decision.
She wasn’t going to let any of them define her.
Marilyn took a deep breath and opened her planner. Her final exams were less than two weeks away. Her internship was wrapping up. And college—this chaotic, soul-stretching chapter—was finally coming to an end.
She needed to focus.
Not on Xavier. Not even on Lucas.
On herself.
Later That Evening
Marilyn met with Jenna at the library, the only person who had stood by her without flinching. They sat at a corner table with papers, snacks, and a quiet determination between them.
“You’re really holding it together,” Jenna said softly, her eyes kind.
Marilyn gave a small smile. “I’m trying. Some days I still feel like I’m underwater. But I can breathe now.”
“You’ve come a long way.”
“I guess pain does that. Forces you to grow up.”
Jenna reached out and squeezed her hand. “Just don’t forget who you were before all this.”
Marilyn looked down, tracing the edge of her notebook. “I think… I’m still her. Just a little wiser now.”
Elsewhere That Night – Lucas
Lucas stood outside the student library, having parked just across the road. He’d driven there without thinking, half-hoping to catch a glimpse of her. But when he saw her through the glass, laughing gently with Jenna, surrounded by books, he didn’t go in.
She looked peaceful.
He didn’t want to disturb that.
Lucas pulled out his phone again, typing a message slowly.
“I’m here when you’re ready. I’m not going to pressure you. Just wanted to say I’m proud of you—for everything.”
He hovered over the send button, then tapped it.
Across the library, he watched Marilyn’s phone light up on the table. She glanced at it briefly, her lips parting slightly—but she didn’t respond. She tucked it into her bag and went back to studying.
Lucas smiled faintly.
She was healing.
And this time, he would be patient enough to let her.
Marilyn’s Apartment, Midnight
Alone, Marilyn stood by the mirror, brushing out her hair. Her textbooks were closed. Her flashcards stacked.
She whispered to her reflection, “You’re almost there.”
She thought of her younger self—the girl who had walked into college with big dreams and an open heart. She had been bruised by love, but she wasn’t broken.
Tomorrow would come with more pages to study. More stories to write.
But tonight, for the first time in weeks, her chest felt light.
She climbed into bed, pulled the covers over herself, and closed her eyes.
Not with fear.
But with hope.
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- Writer
