Chapter 16
1005 Words
Timothy's POV♡
Later that day, Mum cornered me at the bottom of the stairs.
The look on her face made my stomach drop.
“Timothy Garfield,” she said in that low, dangerous tone mothers use when they’re this close to losing patience. “What is wrong with you?”
“Mum, I—”
“No. Don’t you ‘Mum’ me,” she snapped. “That girl has been through hell, and you’re making it worse. That’s not fair.”
“I don’t trust her,” I said quietly but sharply. “You don’t know her, Mum. You just let her walk in here like she’s family.”
“She’s a child, Timothy,” she cut in sharply. “A child who needed help.”
I groaned. “You don’t understand.”
“No, you don’t understand,” she shot back. “She’s not here to hurt anyone. She just needs kindness.”
I wanted to argue, but the look in her eyes stopped me.
I sighed, rubbing my neck. “Fine,” I muttered. “I’ll try.”
“You’ll do more than try,” she said sternly. “You’ll fix this.”
She walked away, leaving me there with guilt heavier than I cared to admit.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. Every word replayed in my head — the pool, her tears, her fear. It didn’t feel like manipulation. It felt like pain. Real pain.
The truth? I already felt bad. I just didn’t know how to say it.
So the next morning, I decided to make it right.
---
She was still asleep when I went upstairs. Sunlight poured through the window, hitting her face as she stirred.
She groaned, covering her eyes. “Ugh… someone should close the darn windows for crying out loud.”
“Did I disturb your sleep?” I asked.
“Timothy?” she whispered softly.
I smirked. “That’s me.”
When she opened her eyes, she looked so startled it almost made me laugh.
“Hi there, sleeping beauty,” I said, trying to sound casual. She blinked up at me like she couldn’t decide if I was real.
“Uh… good morning?” she said.
“Afternoon,” I corrected softly, the smile tugging at my lips.
“Afternoon?!” Her eyes widened.
“Yes, afternoon,” I repeated, shaking my head. “You really did sleep that long.”
She blushed a little, fiddling with her fingers — that same nervous habit from breakfast.
“I’m sorry,” I said suddenly.
Her head snapped up. “What?”
“I said I’m sorry, okay?” I repeated, rubbing the back of my neck. I felt stupid, but it needed to be said.
“For… what exactly?” she asked carefully.
“For what I said yesterday.” I muttered, sitting at the edge of her bed, looking anywhere but her. “And before you think this is because of my mum — it’s not.”
She looked down. “Oh. Okay.”
She didn’t believe me. Honestly, I didn’t even believe myself.
“Anyway, that’s all I came to say,” I said, standing to leave — but something stopped me. Maybe guilt. Maybe impulse.
Before I could think twice, I bent down and hugged her.
It wasn’t long — just a few seconds — but it was enough to feel her freeze, then slowly relax. She smelled like soap and sunlight. It felt… safe. Unexpectedly safe.
“Let’s learn to live with each other,” I whispered. “I don’t want to feel like I’m stopping you from having fun.”
Then I stepped back before I could say something dumb.
“Get dressed, would you? I’ll be waiting downstairs. Let’s get to know each other better.”
Her small, surprised smile followed me out the door — and for the first time in a long time, the smile on my own face didn’t feel forced.
---
A few hours later, we were by the pool again. This time, there was no anger. Just quiet. The breeze. The sunlight. The soft sound of water shifting against the tiles.
“Twenty questions, yeah?” I asked, glancing at her.
She smiled. “Sure.”
It felt easy. Natural.
Her laughter didn’t sound like someone pretending. And for once, I didn’t feel like pretending either.
Her favorite color was blue — cute. Mine, black, obviously.
When I asked her age, she hesitated, eyes dropping to her hands before whispering, “Eighteen.”
Something in her tone told me that number hurt somehow.
“You know,” I said gently, “it’s okay if you’re eighteen and not in college yet.”
She looked up, surprised. “Really?”
“Really, really,” I said, grinning. “You’ve got time.”
She smiled, a little shyly. “Thanks.”
We kept talking — until I asked the wrong thing.
“Why do you have bruises all over your body?”
She froze again — just like before — and I instantly regretted it.
“Are you hungry?” I blurted out quickly, changing the subject.
Her shoulders eased with relief. She nodded, smiling softly.
“Come on,” I said, standing up and offering her my hand.
Back inside, the kitchen was warm with afternoon light.
“Should we eat out or stay in?” I asked.
“Let’s stay in,” she said, sitting on the stool by the counter.
I grinned. “Well then, what would you like to eat, m’lady?”
She laughed. “Surprise me.”
I turned away, hiding my own smile as I started cooking whatever came to mind. Behind me, I could feel her gaze — curious, calm.
And for the first time since the breakup, since everything — the house didn’t feel so heavy anymore.
Maybe Mum was right.
Maybe the girl I thought was a stranger wasn’t a threat at all.
Maybe she was the reason this place finally started to feel like home again.
- Writer
