My First-My Last

CHAPTER FOUR: Shattered Reflections

The afternoon sun filtered weakly through the curtains of Emma’s small living room, casting soft golden light over the worn furniture. Avelon sat curled on the couch, the warmth brushing against her skin but unable to chase the cold that had settled deep inside her.

Her mother, Kristen’s, illness had turned their world upside down, fracturing the life Avelon had tried so hard to keep steady. Every day was a reminder that nothing was permanent — not love, not health, not even time itself.

The quiet hum of the heater was the only sound, filling the space with a gentle white noise that did little to soothe the ache in her chest. Emma moved about the room with quiet purpose, preparing tea as if the simple ritual could calm more than just the nerves. She placed the steaming cups on the coffee table, the soft clink of porcelain breaking the silence.

“You know your mom asked about you again today,” Emma said softly, perching on the edge of the armchair nearby. “Kristen’s been holding onto those visits… she misses you.”

Avelon swallowed hard, blinking away the sting behind her eyes. She nodded but didn’t speak. Words felt too clumsy, too fragile to carry everything she wanted to say — the guilt, the exhaustion, the heartbreak.

Emma reached out and gently rested her hand on Avelon’s arm. “You don’t have to carry this alone, you know.”

Avelon looked down at their joined hands. “Sometimes,” she whispered, “it feels like I’m made of cracks. Like if I lean too far one way, I’ll just break apart.”

Emma’s eyes softened. “Maybe those cracks aren’t weakness. Sometimes they’re the places where light gets in.”

The image stayed with Avelon, vivid but distant. She longed for that light. For a way to patch the pieces back together — to find herself again beneath the weight of everything that had been broken.

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table. She glanced at the screen and saw a message from Damian:

Can we talk? I’m at the café.

Her heart clenched, a mixture of anticipation and fear twisting in her chest. This fragile thread between them stretched taut, pulled by old wounds and new hope.

She rose slowly, pulling a shawl around her shoulders as if armor. “I’m going,” she told Emma without looking back.

Emma gave her a small, reassuring smile. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

Outside, the air was crisp with early autumn’s bite, leaves crunching beneath Avelon’s boots as she made her way to the café. The world seemed to hold its breath, waiting.

The café was a quiet refuge, a place where the past didn’t feel so heavy and strangers spoke in hushed tones. Damian sat by the window, a book open but his attention fixed entirely on her arrival.

“Hey,” he said, voice low but hopeful.

“Hey,” she replied, sliding into the seat opposite him.

They spoke of small things—the town’s slow change, the stubbornness of the seasons, even the strange comfort of routine. It was a gentle dance around the bigger questions neither was quite ready to face.

But beneath the surface, the unspoken truths lingered — like a fragile thread woven through every glance and pause, ready to snap or hold tight.

Finally, Damian reached across the table, his fingers brushing hers.

“I want to try,” he said simply. “To be better. For you. For us.”

Avelon’s breath caught in her throat. The road ahead was uncertain, paved with broken pieces and the chance to rebuild. But maybe, just maybe, those cracks could become something beautiful.

As they sat there, the afternoon sun slipping behind the clouds, Avelon realized that healing wasn’t about forgetting the fractures — it was about learning to live with them, and letting the light shine through.