part 18 : regret besieges her or the past ?

The sky was painted with streaks of gold and purple as the sun kissed the edge of the sea. Laughter and chatter still floated from the terrace behind her, but Fiona's steps were slow, quiet, heavy.

She had left the strawberries, the jokes, and the forced smiles behind.

Her heart ached in that familiar, quiet way—like an echo from a wound she thought had healed long ago. Her feet led her to the edge of the property, to a small weathered bench nestled among wildflowers, perched just above the rocky shore. It was hidden, half-forgotten, and perfect.

She sat down slowly, arms wrapping around her knees as the waves crashed rhythmically below. The breeze ruffled her hair, salty and cool, carrying with it the scent of seaweed and a hint of melancholy.

Fiona stared at the horizon, her chest tightening more with every breath.

She didn't mean for it to go this far. She didn't mean to hurt anyone—not Adam, not his girlfriend, not herself.

But God… why did it all hurt so much?

She swallowed hard, blinking fast. The sound of the ocean should've been soothing, but tonight, it sounded like her thoughts—loud, crashing, relentless.

A single tear slid down her cheek. She didn't brush it away.

It was stupid. The whole thing was stupid.

Why did she even feel this broken? She didn't want Adam. She never did. But somewhere between all the jokes and games, she had forgotten the truth:

She just wanted to feel wanted. Just once. Genuinely. Not because she was funny or clever or made things interesting—but because someone saw her… and stayed.

Another tear fell.

And then the dam broke.

Her arms tightened around her knees as sobs burst out of her, sudden and raw. Not graceful tears, not the quiet cinematic kind—but the ugly, gasping kind that made her curl inward like a paper burning at the edges.

Her shoulders shook with each cry, muffled into her sleeves.

"I ruined it," she whispered to no one. "I ruin everything."

She didn't hear the footsteps until they were right beside her.

A soft presence settled onto the bench next to her. No words at first, just the quiet comfort of someone choosing to sit in her storm.

Then his voice, low and certain:

"I know what you feel. Just cry."

Fiona didn't even look up.

She leaned sideways until her head found the warmth of Adam's shoulder, and once she was there—safe, anchored—she cried harder.

He didn't flinch. He didn't speak again. He just let her be.

The wind tugged at her braid. The waves kept crashing. But for a while, the world stood still around them.

"I'm tired," she finally whispered, her voice hoarse. "Not like… sleepy tired. Just… life tired."

"I know," Adam said softly.

"I didn't mean to hurt her," Fiona added. "Or you. Or anyone. I was just… trying to protect something. I don't even know what."

Adam rested his cheek on top of her head. "You always do that. You break the silence with a joke. You throw yourself in front of the train before anyone else gets hit. It's brave… and stupid."

She let out a choked laugh. "I know."

They sat there for a long time.

"You should go back to her," Fiona finally said, her voice steady but gentle. "She needs you more than I do right now."

He was quiet for a beat. Then, reluctantly, he nodded. He pulled her into a quick, silent hug—tight and warm—and she held on just a little longer than she should have.

When he stood, he looked at her like he wanted to say more, but all he said was: "Come back inside when you're ready."

And then he was gone.

Fiona stayed.

Eventually, the wind picked up. The colors in the sky dimmed. The waves grew louder as the sun fully dipped beneath the sea.

She wiped her face and stood, slowly, like her body weighed more than usual.

The walk back felt like a thousand miles.

The villa was quiet when she stepped inside. No voices. No clinking glasses. Just the soft hum of the ocean outside the windows.

She climbed the stairs and walked the hallway alone, each step echoing against the walls.

Her room welcomed her with silence.

She locked the door behind her and exhaled. It felt safe, finally.

She stepped into the bathroom, turned the water on as hot as she could stand, and stripped away the day. Steam filled the space like a fog that dulled the edges of her pain.

She stepped into the shower. The water hit her skin, and her tears returned—but this time, they were quiet. She let the warmth melt her, let the noise in her head dissolve into the steady stream.

She didn't sob.

She simply stood there, crying in silence.

Why does it always end like this? Why does it feel like I'm always the storm people enjoy… until they run for cover?

She pressed her forehead against the cold tile wall and whispered, "I just want someone to stay."

And then—clarity.

Not a fix. Not a solution. Just a whisper of truth in the haze of hurt:

I'm exhausted from being everything to everyone. Maybe it's time I start being something to myself.

The water ran until her skin was wrinkled and her heart just a little lighter.

She stepped out, dried off slowly, pulled on an oversized shirt that hung off one shoulder. Her damp hair was braided loosely down her back, messy and soft.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Red eyes. Pale lips. But not broken.

Not yet.

She walked to the bed, slid under the cool sheets, and stared at the ceiling. She didn't feel better. But she felt… honest.

She rolled to her side, pulling the blanket to her chin, and whispered to the darkness:

"I'll figure it out tomorrow."

And for the first time in a long time… she let herself sleep.

Not because everything was okay.

But because—for just one night—she was allowed to rest.