The Retreat address Reckoning

Catalonia – Three Hours Outside Barcelona

Aria breathed in the sharp scent of pine and clay, standing before the quiet art residency nestled in the mountains. Just two weeks. That's what she'd told Ronan. I need time. I need space.

The director had welcomed her with warm eyes and no questions. She unpacked in silence, placing her sketchbooks beside the bed, her tablet on the windowsill, and her prenatal vitamins next to the sink. Every move felt methodical, like if she got the placement right, maybe she could reorder the chaos inside her.

Outside, cicadas hummed.

Inside, her silence screamed.

Barcelona – Ronan's Apartment

The loft felt cavernous without her.

Ronan stood in the kitchen, staring at the coffee mug she always used. The blue one with the chip on the rim. Her favorite. Still in the sink. Still stained with yesterday.

He hadn't slept much. His phone buzzed often with teammates checking in, but he hadn't responded. He wasn't interested in practice drills or weekend matches. He was only interested in one thing: whether she'd come back.

Was a photo enough to break her faith in me?

Or had her faith always been too fragile to survive the world we came from?

He hated how quickly doubt could poison everything.

Catalonia – Artist Residency Studio

Aria sat before a blank canvas, brush poised. She hadn't painted in three days. The other residents gave her space, respectful and curious.

When the brush finally touched the surface, it came in a rush—blue-black strokes of emotion. Chaotic. Bold. A silhouette formed. A woman standing at a cliff's edge. Pregnant. Wind in her hair. Alone—but not shattered.

She stepped back and stared.

Maybe she was more whole than she thought.

Barcelona – A Visit from Isla

"You look like hell," Isla said as she stepped into Ronan's apartment.

"I feel worse."

She crossed her arms. "You hurt her."

"I didn't cheat."

"Maybe not. But you didn't protect her either. And someone like Aria—she's used to being strong for everyone. But she needed you to be strong for her for once."

"I was strong for her," he snapped.

"No," Isla said, eyes narrowing. "You were strong for yourself. You kept your head down, trained, played the role. But you never told her what it cost you to become this version of you. She needs truth, Ronan. Not just effort."

He swallowed hard. "She's scared. She thinks I'll become my father."

Isla paused, her voice gentler. "Then show her you've already chosen not to be."

Catalonia – Late at Night

The moon lit Aria's room in silver. She sat on the edge of the bed, phone in hand. One unread text from Ronan.

I know you're still angry. I know you still hurt. But if this silence is you trying to forget us, then I need you to know: I can't. I won't. You and this baby—you're the only thing that feels real in a world I barely survived. I'll wait. As long as it takes.

She stared at the screen for a long time, heart a battleground.

Then she typed, slowly:

I'm not trying to forget. I'm trying to remember who I am… before I became someone I didn't recognize in the mirror. I miss you. But I need to finish this canvas. I need to come back whole.

No response came. Not immediately.

But somehow, the silence this time didn't feel empty.

Barcelona – Later That Week

Ronan walked into his father's house unannounced.

"Didn't expect you," the older man said, voice dry.

"I need to know something," Ronan said.

His father sat, cracked hands resting on his knees. "Shoot."

"Why didn't you fight harder after Mom died? Why'd you give up?"

Silence. Then: "Because I thought I'd already failed you. And it was easier to be nothing than risk failing again."

Ronan's chest ached. "That's how I feel now. With her."

His father looked up, weathered eyes full of painful clarity. "Then don't be me."

Catalonia – Final Day of the Residency

Aria stood in front of her final painting. The woman was still on the cliff, but now—her hands were stretched outward, toward something. Not fear. Not longing. Hope.

Her phone buzzed.

A video from Ronan.

He was standing at the edge of a rugby field, holding a microphone. Behind him, press and teammates.

"I've decided to take a break from rugby. Maybe for a while. Maybe longer. There's something bigger I need to show up for. Something I never want to regret missing."

Then he turned to the camera directly.

"You."

Her heart cracked and swelled all at once.

She pressed play again.

And again.

Barcelona – One Week Later

Ronan turned the key in the loft, expecting silence.

Instead, he saw her.

Standing by the window.

Hair swept up, her belly just barely visible in a soft cream dress. She turned slowly, eyes bright but tired. Hopeful. Scared.

He dropped his bag.

She crossed the room, wrapped her arms around his neck, and whispered into his chest.

"I finished the painting."

He held her tighter. "And?"

"And it told me where I belong."