Burned Bridges

Celia Vance barely slept that night. Every time she closed her eyes, memories clawed their way back: the look in Julian's eyes, raw with something that might have been love — or guilt. The words he had whispered: "Because this time, I won't let anything take you away."

She hated that a part of her still wanted to believe him. That same part of her heart that had cracked, then hardened, all those years ago.

By dawn, the city outside her window glowed pale gold. She stood at the window, watching it come alive: cars slicing through wet streets, towers catching the first light. It all looked so solid, so permanent. Yet Celia knew better than most how quickly everything could fall apart.

Her phone buzzed on the dresser. An unfamiliar number, a text blinking on the lock screen:

Meet me. The truth can't stay buried forever. – E

Celia's chest tightened. Aunt Elise. Her mother's estranged sister, the woman the family never spoke of except in bitter half-whispers.

She hadn't seen Elise since she was a child, when her mother had pulled her away from the woman's arms and hissed, "Stay away from her, Cee." Back then, Celia hadn't understood why. Now, the questions felt heavier than ever.

She hesitated only a moment before replying:

Where?

The reply came almost instantly:

The old café on Bishop Street. Noon. Come alone.

The rain started mid-morning, soft at first, then growing steady. Celia pulled on her coat, fingers clumsy at the buttons. Her heart thudded a traitorous rhythm in her chest — part fear, part hope.

She stepped into the café and was swallowed by warmth and the bitter scent of burnt coffee. It hadn't changed: the chipped tiles, the scratched wooden tables, the dusty ceiling fans spinning lazily overhead.

At a corner table, Elise sat waiting, a mug steaming before her. She looked older than Celia remembered — lines etched deep around sharp eyes that still held something ferocious.

"Celia," Elise said, her voice dry as paper. "You look like your mother. And nothing like her at all."

Celia sank into the seat opposite her. "Why now?" she asked, skipping pleasantries. Her voice felt steadier than she felt inside.

"Because silence kept you safe when you were a child," Elise murmured. "But you're not a child anymore."

Celia's chest tightened. "Safe from what?"

"From the truth about your father," Elise said, her gaze unwavering. "The man you called your father… wasn't."

The words fell into Celia's chest like stones. "I—" she began, but her mouth felt dry. "You're lying."

"I wish I were," Elise whispered. "Your mother loved a man she couldn't have. A man powerful enough to destroy us all if it got out. When she fell pregnant, she made a choice — to raise you as her husband's daughter, to bury the truth so deep it would never touch you."

Celia stared, a thousand half-memories swirling: hushed arguments behind closed doors, her mother's haunted eyes, the way her father sometimes looked at her as if he didn't know what to do with her.

"Who was he?" Celia asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Elise shook her head. "That's a truth I won't speak here. But if you want it… you must decide if you're willing to burn every bridge left standing."

"Why should I trust you?" Celia spat, anger rising like bile. "You disappeared. You let my mother fight alone."

"And what would you have had me do?" Elise's voice cracked, just for a moment. "I tried to protect her. And you. But your mother made her choice — and cut me out to keep you safe."

Celia's breath trembled. Outside, rain streaked the glass, the city blurring into greys and silvers.

"If you want answers," Elise murmured, softer now, "there's a box hidden behind the fireplace in your family's summer house. Your mother kept it. But remember: once you see what's inside, you can't unsee it."

"And Julian Hale?" Celia asked suddenly. "Did you know about him?"

"The boy who would have given up everything for you," Elise said quietly. "I knew of him. And I know what it cost you both."

Pain flared in Celia's chest — sharp, old, and tender all at once.

"You must choose, Celia," Elise finished, her voice low. "Protect what your mother built — or tear it all down for the truth."

For a long moment, Celia stared at her aunt, at the woman who felt like a stranger and a link to a life Celia barely understood.

Then she rose, hands trembling but her voice steady: "I'll decide for myself."

As she stepped back into the rain, the weight of that choice pressed into her bones, as heavy as the family name she carried.