The morning light spilled across Adriella's apartment, painting the walls with streaks of pale gold. She stirred awake slowly, her cheek still pressed against Daniel's shoulder. They had fallen asleep on the couch the night before, after hours of talking, laughing, and simply being. For the first time in years, Adriella woke up without the sharp pang of emptiness gnawing at her chest.
But peace has a way of attracting shadows.
Her phone buzzed on the coffee table, breaking the fragile calm. Daniel shifted slightly, his hand brushing her hair away from her face. "Want me to grab it?" he murmured, half-asleep.
She shook her head and reached for it herself. The screen lit up with an unfamiliar number. Curiosity tugged, but when she opened the message, her stomach dropped.
"Funny how fast you moved on. Does Tobi know?"
The words sliced deep, sharp enough to steal her breath. Her hands trembled as she read them again, disbelief quickly giving way to a cold rush of shame. Who would send such a thing? Why now, when she had just begun to feel steady?
Daniel noticed immediately. "What's wrong?" His voice was alert now, protective.
Adriella shook her head quickly, locking the screen. "Nothing. Just… spam." She forced a small smile, but it didn't reach her eyes.
Daniel studied her, concern flickering in his gaze, but he didn't press. Instead, he pulled her gently against him, letting silence hold them both. Yet even as his arms wrapped around her, Adriella felt the words burning in her pocket, seeping into her mind.
All day, the message haunted her. It whispered while she folded laundry, echoed when she tried to read, and grew louder when she passed the framed photograph of Tobi on her shelf. She had never taken it down, never wanted to. His smile—captured in that frozen moment—had been her anchor through grief. But now, for the first time, she wondered if leaving it there made her a traitor to Daniel.
That night, as Daniel cooked them dinner, she found herself pacing. "Do you ever think," she blurted suddenly, "that… maybe I'm moving on too quickly?"
He turned from the stove, surprise etched across his face. "Where's that coming from?"
She faltered, clutching her arms around herself. "It's just… I still talk about Tobi. I still cry sometimes. And then here you are, holding me, loving me, making me believe in tomorrow again. What if it's wrong? What if I'm betraying him by letting you in?"
Daniel set down the spoon and crossed the room in two strides. His hands cupped her face firmly, but his gaze was gentle. "Adriella, loving me doesn't erase your love for Tobi. It doesn't make what you had with him smaller or less important. It just means your heart is bigger than your fear."
Her throat tightened. "But people will talk. They'll say I didn't love him enough if I can move on."
He leaned closer, his forehead resting against hers. "And do you believe that?"
The question stilled her. Did she? No. Every memory with Tobi was etched into her soul. His absence had nearly destroyed her; his love had shaped her. That truth couldn't be erased by anyone's opinion.
Her silence was answer enough. Daniel's voice softened. "Then let them talk. They don't get to define your grief. Or your healing. Or your love."
Something inside her cracked—not from breaking, but from release. She buried her face in his chest, her tears spilling freely. "I'm so scared, Daniel. Scared of losing again. Scared of being judged. Scared of… letting myself be happy."
He held her tighter, his voice steady and sure. "Then let me be scared with you. We'll carry it together, remember? You don't have to face any of this alone."
The oven timer beeped in the background, but neither moved. The world could wait. What mattered was this: the way his arms didn't loosen, the way his presence didn't waver, the way he stood with her against the shadows of doubt.
Later, as they sat down to eat, Adriella glanced at her phone again. She had deleted the message earlier, but its ghost still lingered. She placed the device face-down on the table and reached for Daniel's hand instead.
"Thank you," she whispered.
He squeezed her fingers gently. "For what?"
"For not making me choose." Her voice cracked. "For letting me carry both—Tobi and you."
Daniel's eyes softened, and in that moment, Adriella knew: this was love. Not the reckless rush of her youth, but the steady, unshakable kind that didn't demand erasure of the past. A love that had room for memory and hope, for grief and joy, for scars and new beginnings.
And as she leaned into him that night, the shadows quieted. They weren't gone—but they no longer defined her. For the first time, she truly believed she could face the whispers, the doubts, the fears… because she wasn't facing them alone.