The storm outside was nothing compared to the tempest raging within Lucy.
She gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, staring at the door as Jack’s muffled voice seeped through the cracks. It had been five years since she last heard that voice—five years since he had shattered her world and left her to pick up the pieces.
“Lucy, please,” Jack called again, his words a mix of desperation and regret. “Just hear me out.”
For a moment, her grip on the counter tightened, as if bracing herself against the surge of memories threatening to overwhelm her. The temptation to ignore him, to let him stand out there in the pouring rain, was strong. But something in his voice, a fragility she had never heard before, held her back.
She exhaled slowly, each step toward the door feeling heavier than the last. When she opened it, the sight of him stopped her cold. Jack stood drenched, his hair plastered to his forehead, clutching a bedraggled bouquet of flowers. The rain traced paths down his face, but it was his eyes—haunted and pleading—that struck her most.
“Hi, Lucy,” he said softly, holding out the flowers like a peace offering.
Lucy didn’t reach for them. Her voice was sharp, but beneath it lay a tremor she couldn’t quite suppress. “What are you doing here?”
Jack hesitated, the weight of her question evident in the way his shoulders slumped. “I came to explain,” he said finally. “I know I don’t deserve it, but I need you to hear me out.”
Lucy’s laugh was bitter. “Explain? After all this time? You think some explanation is going to erase what you did?”
“I don’t expect it to,” Jack replied quickly, his voice cracking. “But I’ve spent every day since regretting how I left. And if I don’t tell you why, I’ll never be able to forgive myself.”
The rawness of his words unsettled her, but anger bubbled up to steady her resolve. “Why now, Jack? Why not five years ago? Or even two?”
The rain continued to fall between them, its rhythm a steady counterpoint to the silence that stretched in the wake of her question. Finally, Jack looked down, his hands clenching the ruined bouquet. “Because I didn’t know how to face you until now.”
Against her better judgment, Lucy stepped aside. “You’ve got five minutes.”
Jack stepped inside, dripping water onto the hardwood floor. The sharp contrast between the storm’s chaos and the room’s quiet warmth made the tension between them even more palpable. Lucy crossed her arms, watching him with a mixture of disbelief and wariness. The puddle forming at his feet only added to her unease.
She opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat. He looked so different, yet heartbreakingly familiar—his face older, his eyes heavier, but still carrying that same magnetic sincerity she remembered. And still, the ache of abandonment gnawed at her, threatening to undo her.
“You’re soaking wet,” she said finally, her voice flat. “You’ll ruin the floor.”
Jack flinched slightly, glancing down. “I didn’t mean to—”
Lucy cut him off with a sharp exhale. “Wait here.”
She hesitated for a moment before walking to the linen closet. As she rummaged for a towel, her mind churned with conflicted emotions. Part of her wanted to let him shiver in his wet clothes, to mirror the coldness he had left in her life. But another part—the part that remembered how deeply she once cared for him—couldn’t bear the thought.
When she returned, her steps slowed. She held out the towel, her hand trembling just slightly. “Here,” she said, her voice clipped.
Jack took it with a murmured “Thanks,” but Lucy didn’t look at him. Instead, she turned away, retreating to the kitchen as he dried off.
She leaned against the counter, staring at the kettle without really seeing it. Why did he have to come now? Why couldn’t he have just stayed a memory? Her fingers tightened around the edge of the counter, but no matter how much she tried to suppress it, the flicker of old kindness inside her wouldn’t die.
Returning to the living room, Lucy set down a pair of dry sweatpants and an old hoodie on the couch. “These should fit. Bathroom’s down the hall,” she said curtly, avoiding his gaze.
Jack hesitated, his voice soft. “Lucy, you don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t have to,” she snapped, her tone sharper than she intended. “Just… go change. You’re making a mess.”
Jack’s expression wavered, but he nodded and disappeared down the hall.
As he closed the door behind him, Lucy sank into the armchair, her thoughts a whirlwind. Why am I doing this? He doesn’t deserve kindness—not after what he did. She glanced at the towel he had used, now damp and crumpled on the coffee table. But I can’t throw him out—not like this.
When Jack returned, now dry and wearing her brother’s old clothes, he looked more vulnerable than she’d ever seen him. He stood awkwardly in the doorway, his hands shoved into the hoodie pocket.
“I, uh… thanks,” he said, his voice low.
“Don’t thank me,” Lucy replied, her tone sharp. “Just get to the point. Why are you here, Jack?”
He nodded, swallowing hard, and moved to sit on the couch across from her. Between them, the coffee table felt like a chasm—a line neither dared to cross.
Jack began, his voice halting at first. “I left because I thought it was the only way to protect you.”
Lucy crossed her arms. “Protect me from what?”
“From the mess I was about to become,” Jack admitted, looking down at his hands. “Do you remember the week before I left? When I canceled our plans out of nowhere?”
Lucy’s brow furrowed. “You said you were swamped with work.”
Jack nodded bitterly. “I lied. That week, I found out my dad was sick. Really sick. Stage four cancer.”
Lucy’s breath hitched. “You… never told me.”
Jack’s voice trembled as he continued. “He asked me not to. He didn’t want anyone to know. Said he didn’t want to be a burden, especially not to you. I thought I could handle it on my own—take care of him, keep it together. But I couldn’t. I was drowning, Lucy.”
Jack sat in his father’s hospital room, staring blankly at the beeping machines. His dad, once strong and full of life, now looked frail and small against the sterile white sheets.
“You shouldn’t be here every day, Jack,” his dad said weakly. “You’ve got Lucy waiting for you. Don’t let my illness ruin your life.”
Jack clenched his fists. “I can’t just leave you here.”
“I’m not asking you to leave me. I’m asking you to live your life.” His dad’s voice was firm despite the exhaustion in his eyes.
But Jack couldn’t do it. He couldn’t focus on Lucy, couldn’t bring himself to tell her the truth. Every time he looked at her, he saw the future he was supposed to give her—a future he felt slipping through his fingers. The guilt became unbearable.
The next day, he packed his bags and left. He didn’t say goodbye, didn’t explain. He just left her a note that said: I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore.
Jack’s voice cracked as he looked at Lucy. “I thought I was sparing you from the worst of it. But I see now that all I did was hurt you.”
Lucy’s heart twisted painfully, but she refused to let her walls crumble just yet. “You could have told me. We could have faced it together. But you made that decision for me.”
Jack’s voice cracked as he continued. “When he passed, all I could think about was how I had lost everything—him, you, myself.”
Lucy blinked, the words hitting her like a gust of cold wind. Her breath caught in her throat. “He’s gone?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “When?”
Jack looked away, his jaw tightening. “Almost a year now.”
Her mind raced. Jack’s dad had been his anchor, the one constant in his life. She remembered the stories Jack had shared, the way his face would light up when talking about their fishing trips or how his dad would stay up late fixing things around the house. The thought of him being gone felt surreal.
Lucy’s hands trembled in her lap, and for a fleeting moment, she wanted to cross the room and hold Jack, to offer the comfort he so clearly needed. But then the anger surged, sharp and hot, cutting through the ache in her chest.
“You didn’t tell me,” she said, her voice cracking. “You just… disappeared. And then he… Jack, how could you not tell me?”
“I know,” Jack said, his gaze unwavering, his expression etched with regret. “And I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. But when he passed, all I could think about was how I had lost everything—him, you, myself. That’s when I knew I had to change. I started therapy, began rebuilding my life piece by piece. And now, here I am, trying to rebuild the bridge I burned.”
Lucy pressed her hands to her temples, her emotions a tangled mess. The image of Jack grieving alone gnawed at her, but the pain of his absence still stung like an open wound.
“Why now?” she whispered, her voice raw with vulnerability. “Why show up after all this time?”
Jack hesitated, then pulled a small leather-bound journal from his coat. “Because I finally had the courage to face you. This journal—it’s everything I’ve worked through over the years. I’ve written about my dad, about you, about the mistakes I made. If you can’t forgive me, I understand. But I want you to know that I never stopped caring about you.”
Lucy sat alone that night, the journal resting on her lap like a weight she wasn’t sure she could bear. She opened it hesitantly, the pages filled with Jack’s raw, unfiltered thoughts. Each word was a window into his pain, his guilt, and his determination to become better.
By the time she reached the last page, tears streamed down her face. She felt the anger in her heart loosening, making room for something else—something like hope.
The next morning, Lucy stood outside Jack’s door, clutching the journal. When he opened it, his expression shifted from surprise to tentative hope.
“I’m not saying it’s going to be easy,” Lucy said, her voice steady. “But if you’re willing to keep fighting for us, I’m willing to try. We take this slow. No promises, no guarantees. But I’m willing to see where this goes.”
Jack’s relief was palpable. “That’s more than I deserve,” he said quietly. “But I’ll take it.”
As they stood there, the storm clouds parted, revealing the first rays of sunlight. It wasn’t a perfect ending, but it was a start—one they were finally ready to face together.
Liked this story about lost love and forgiveness? Check out more at PodiumExpress.com!
