Chris buried himself in work. Projects. Deals. Numbers. Anything to keep from thinking about Susan.
Miles away, Susan stared at the four walls of her new place. A single room. Bare. But hers.
She kept herself busy too, job hunting, unpacking the little she owned, making sure she didn't linger long enough to drown in memory. She avoided bars, avoided nightlife, and avoided men altogether. Instead, she found work in the unlikeliest place a bookstore café.
The locals were kind. They knew each other by name, faces lighting up with every greeting. It was small and safe.
And yet…
Every night when she closed the shop and walked back to her tiny apartment, Chris followed her. In memories. In shadows. In silence. The Chris she had fallen for, the one who looked at her like she was fire and dared her to burn him, that wasn't the man she'd left behind. And she hated how the memory of both lived in her chest, twisting her in two.
She tried to distract herself. Reading. Shelving books. Smiling at strangers. But nothing erased him.
The pain came without warning.
At first, she thought it was cramps worse than usual, sharp enough to double her over. She tried to brush it off, stumbling into the pharmacy. But the pharmacist had barely taken one look at her before she was being rushed to the back, the world spinning, voices shouting for an ambulance.
By the time Susan came to in the sterile glare of a hospital room, sweat plastered to her skin, she thought she'd lost her mind.
A cry pierced the silence. High. Fragile. Impossible.
And then a nurse placed a tiny, swaddled bundle into her arms.
Susan stared; breath caught in her throat. A boy. No, she blinked again, tears clouding her vision. A baby girl.
"This… no. No, I can't…." Her voice broke, panic clawing at her.
But the baby stirred, her tiny mouth opening, a whimper spilling out like the world's softest plea. And Susan's arms tightened around her without thinking.
If not for the pain, she would've denied it all. Would've called the doctors insane. But the proof was there. Warm. Breathing. Real.
She was a mother.
Three days later, exhaustion etched into her bones, Susan sat by the hospital bed staring at the little girl she'd named Leah. She had no one to call. No family. No safety net. The loneliness was sharp enough to slice her open.
In desperation, she dialled the one number she wouldn't.
"Vanilla, how may I—"
"Vanilla, it's me." Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper.
Silence. Then a loud gasp. "Susan? Oh my God, where did you go?" Vanilla's voice was a mix of relief and disbelief, so loud Susan flinched, holding the phone away from her ear.
"I need your help," Susan rushed, words tumbling out before she lost her nerve. She told her everything about the pain, the hospital, the baby girl sleeping peacefully.
Vanilla absorbed it all like the juiciest gossip she'd ever heard. But she promised to help.
Susan let herself hope.
But three days passed, and nothing. Vanilla claimed she couldn't reach Chris; he was too busy and unreachable. Instead, she sends some money to Susan. "Think of it as an investment," Susan used it to clear the hospital bills and buy the bare essentials for Leah.
And then, like a miracle, the town rallied. Neighbours she barely knew dropped off hand-me-down baby clothes, home-cooked meals, warm blankets. The little apartment filled with kindness she hadn't expected, easing her fear bit by bit.
Each night, as Leah cried and cooed and wriggled in her arms, Susan held her close.
The old fear, the loneliness, the heartbreak, they hadn't vanished. But now, there was no space for them.
Because Susan was no longer just a survivor.
She was a mother. And Chris Lopez had no idea.
For two weeks Chris travelled endlessly, ducking meetings, burying himself in work, ignoring every message from Vanilla. Her name alone made his jaw clench.
"Sir, Vanilla called again…."
The look Chris gave his PA was enough. The man swallowed. "I'll… take care of it."
Chris exhaled, shoving the irritation aside. He was done with that world. Done with ghosts.
Leah's tiny hand curled around her finger, and Susan's heart swelled so fiercely she thought it might break. Every coo, every cry, every sleepy blink she wanted to hold her daughter every second. Mrs. Henry, her elderly neighbour, had become her anchor.
"I was going to do the laundry. Thought I'd check if you've got anything," the woman said warmly.
"I did them this morning," Susan replied with a grin.
Mrs. Henry chuckled, then bent over Leah. "Hello, pretty lady." The baby squealed at the attention, and Susan's heart melted all over again. It was simple, quiet. But it was hers.
And yet, sometimes, when night fell and the house went still, her chest ached with the weight of Chris's absence.