The Truth Between Us

Chapter 3: The Life I Left

Alina’s POV

I changed my mind about visiting my parents at least four times before I finally left the apartment. The first time, I told myself I should give them another day. The second time, I decided I needed to get used to being back in Westbridge first. By the third time, I was standing in front of my closet wondering if I looked too nervous. That was when I realized I was being ridiculous. It was my family. Not an interview. Not a courtroom. Not a meeting where someone was going to judge every word that came out of my mouth. Still, my stomach twisted when I picked up my bag. I wasn’t nervous about seeing my mother. I already knew how she would react. She would hug me too tightly, ask if I was eating properly, complain that I looked thinner, then tell me she had missed me at least ten times before lunch.

My father was different. Roman Prescott was not a man who gave away his emotions easily. I had no idea what six years had done to the relationship between us. More importantly, I had no idea what he would see when he looked at me. His daughter who had left without explaining herself? The twenty-year-old who had disappeared from his life? Or simply Alina, finally standing in front of him again? I wasn’t sure which possibility made me more nervous.

The drive to the Prescott estate was shorter than I remembered. Or maybe it only felt that way because I had spent six years imagining it as some distant place I could never return to. The gates opened as soon as the security guard recognized my car. My chest tightened.

I stared through the window as the familiar driveway came into view. The house looked almost exactly the same. Almost. The garden had been redesigned. The old fountain near the entrance was gone, replaced by something more modern. Even the front doors had been changed. I found myself noticing every difference. Maybe because it was easier than thinking about what hadn’t changed.

I hadn’t even reached the front steps when the door opened. My mother came outside. She didn’t wait for me to walk in. She hurried down the steps and pulled me into her arms. I laughed against her shoulder.

“Mom.”

“You’re finally here.”

“I told you I would come.”

“You’ve been saying that since yesterday.”

“It has only been one day.”

“One very long day.”

I smiled as she pulled back and held my face between her hands.

“Let me look at you.”

“Mom.”

“Just let me.”

She studied me for a few seconds before smiling.

“You look beautiful.”

“You say that every time.”

“Because it’s true every time.”

I shook my head.

She hugged me again. For a moment, everything felt strangely normal.

Then she whispered, “I’ve missed you so much.”

My smile faded.

“I’ve missed you too.”

She took my hand and led me inside. The moment I stepped through the doors, memories came rushing back. The hallway. The staircase. The portraits. The large sitting room where my mother used to host dinners. Everything was familiar, yet somehow unfamiliar at the same time. I had spent most of my childhood in this house. I knew which floorboard creaked near the stairs. I knew which window looked out toward the garden. I knew where my mother kept the expensive glasses she only brought out for guests. Yet standing there after six years, I felt like a visitor.

“You’re quiet,” Mom said.

“I’m just looking around.”

“I know.”

She squeezed my hand.

“Your father is in his study.”

My stomach tightened.

“Oh.”

She noticed immediately.

“You don’t have to see him right away.”

“No.”

I took a breath.

“I should.”

“Alina, you don’t have to force yourself.”

“I know.”

But I needed to do it. If I kept avoiding my father, I would never get comfortable being back here. We walked toward his study. My mother knocked once before opening the door.

My father looked up from his desk. For a few seconds, nobody spoke. I had imagined this moment too. More times than I wanted to admit. But none of those versions prepared me for the real thing. He looked older. There was more grey in his hair than I remembered, and the years had hardened his expression in a way I couldn’t quite explain. His eyes stayed on me.

“Alina.”

My throat tightened.

“Hi, Dad.”

He stood. Neither of us moved.

Then he walked toward me. I expected a hug. He surprised me by pulling me into one. It was brief, but it was enough.

“Welcome home,” he said quietly.

I swallowed.

“Thank you.”

When he stepped back, his expression had returned to its usual controlled state.

“How was the journey?”

“Fine.”

“You settled into the apartment?”

“Yes.”

“Your mother tells me you’re refusing to stay here.”

I looked at Mom. She smiled innocently.

“I didn’t refuse. I just wanted my own place.”

“I understand.”

There was no argument. That almost made it worse. We sat together for a while, talking about ordinary things. My apartment. My work. Westbridge. The family business.

My father asked practical questions, and I gave practical answers. It felt strange. Six years apart, and we were discussing furniture and traffic.

Nobody mentioned why I left. Nobody asked what had happened. Nobody asked about the person I had spent six years trying not to think about. I should have been relieved. Instead, the silence felt heavy.

At lunch, my mother kept the conversation moving. She asked about my plans, my work, whether I had made friends in the city I had lived in. My father listened more than he spoke.

Then Mom asked, “Have you heard from anyone from university?”

I looked at her. She immediately looked down at her plate. There it was. I almost laughed.

“You can just ask.”

She looked up.

“Ask what?”

“You’re trying to ask about Asher.”

Her fork stopped. My father’s expression changed slightly. Only slightly. But I noticed.

Mom sighed.

“I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable.”

“You weren’t.”

“I just…”

“Mom.”

She gave me an apologetic smile.

“I don’t want to bring up anything you’re not ready to talk about.”

My father finally spoke.

“You don’t have to talk about him.”

I looked at him.

“I know.”

The room went quiet.

Six years. Six years, and his name still had the ability to change the entire atmosphere of a room. I looked down at my plate.

“I haven’t heard from him.”

That wasn’t exactly true. I didn’t know whether he had tried to contact me. I didn’t know whether he had moved on. I didn’t know anything about his life. And I had deliberately kept it that way.

Mom nodded.

“He’s still in Westbridge.”

My fingers tightened around my glass. Of course he was. I had known that. But hearing it aloud made something inside me shift.

My father cleared his throat.

“He’s doing well.”

I looked at him.

“You keep in touch?”

“From time to time.”

Mom quickly added, “Nobody is asking you to see him.”

“I know.”

“You don’t have to explain anything.”

“I know, Mom.”

She reached across the table and touched my hand.

“I just don’t want your return to become something painful.”

I looked at her.

“It already is.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them. Silence followed. My father leaned back slightly. Mom’s expression softened. I immediately regretted saying it.

“I don’t mean…”

“You don’t have to explain,” my father said.

His voice was calm, but something about it made me look at him. For the first time since I arrived, I wondered whether he knew more than I thought. Before I could ask, Mom changed the subject. She started telling me about a charity event happening the following weekend, and my father joined the conversation. I let them. We talked about everything except the one thing sitting between us.

By the time lunch ended, I was exhausted. My mother walked me toward the front door.

“You can come whenever you want.”

“I know.”

“You don’t have to wait for an invitation.”

“I know.”

“And if you ever want to talk…”

I smiled.

“You’ll be the first person I call.”

She hugged me.

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

When I stepped outside, I looked back at the house. Six years ago, I had walked away from it believing I was leaving everything behind. Now I understood something I hadn’t expected. A place could stay the same while the people inside it changed. My mother had become more cautious. My father had become quieter. And I had become someone they had to learn all over again. I walked toward my car, but before I opened the door, my phone buzzed. A message from Talia.

Talia: So? Did you survive the Prescott family reunion?

I smiled.

Me: Barely.

Three dots appeared immediately.

Talia: Did they mention him?

I stared at the screen. Of course she would ask.

I typed slowly.

Me: Yes.

Her reply came almost instantly.

Talia: And?

I looked back at the house. Then I looked toward the road leading back into Westbridge. Somewhere in that city was the person I had spent six years convincing myself no longer mattered.

Me: He’s still here.

I locked my phone and slipped it into my bag. For six years, Asher had existed only in the part of my past I refused to visit. Now we were in the same city again. And suddenly, six years didn’t feel nearly as long as they had yesterday.