Please Come Back, My Love Chapter 65

Elena: POV

His lips brushed mine, gentle and careful. "Always. That's a promise."

When he pulled back, his eyes held something I'd never seen before—a fierce protectiveness that made my chest tighten.

But before I could say anything, Victoria stepped forward.

Her smile didn't reach her eyes.

"Elena," she said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "I know this must be overwhelming for you. Finding out about the baby, having everyone here..." She moved closer. "I just want you to know—I've let go of Julian. Truly. What happened between us... it's in the past."

Bullshit.

I watched her carefully, noting the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers twitched at her sides like she wanted to wrap them around my throat.

"I actually love children," she continued, placing one hand over her heart. "Maybe we could even be friends? Start fresh?"

Friends. Right. And maybe pigs would start flying out of Fifth Avenue boutiques.

But Julian was watching us with this hopeful expression, like he actually believed Victoria's Oscar-worthy performance.

He wants this to work. He wants his perfect little world where everyone gets along.

Every instinct screamed at me to call her out, to refuse, to protect myself.

But Julian's hand tightened on mine, warm and steady.

So I plastered on my own smile, matching Victoria's fake sweetness with my own brand of bullshit.

"That would be lovely," I said. "I'd like that."

Victoria's eyes flashed—just for a second—with pure venom. Then the mask snapped back into place.

"Wonderful," she breathed, but the word came out strangled.

Julian stepped forward. "I'm glad you two are willing to try," he said quietly. "It means a lot."

Evelyn cleared her throat. "Well, I suppose we should let Elena rest. She's been through quite an ordeal."

Arthur nodded, patting my hand gently. "Indeed. But first—" His face grew grave. "Elena, my dear, about your mother's decision to leave... I spoke with her this morning before we came to the hospital. I tried everything to convince her to stay—a raise, reduced hours, anything she wanted. But she was absolutely determined."

My stomach dropped.

Freedom.

The word echoed in my head, wrong somehow. Mom had never talked about leaving. Never mentioned wanting freedom.

My hand moved instinctively to my stomach. My throat felt tight.

"It's okay, Grandpa Arthur," I said quietly. "Let her go. Maybe she just... maybe she wants to chase her own life now."

The words sounded reasonable. Calm.

But inside, alarm bells were screaming.

Something was wrong. I knew it in my bones.

She's running from something.

Arthur studied me for a moment. "You're a good daughter, Elena. I just hope she knows what she's doing. After all these years with our family..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "Well, I suppose everyone deserves the chance to choose their own path."

"Where will she go?" Julian asked.

"Florida. She mentioned something about a small condo near the beach."

---

The next twenty minutes were filled with awkward farewells.

Evelyn kept shooting me these assessing looks. Victoria maintained her perfect mask, though I caught her staring at my stomach more than once with barely concealed hatred.

Finally, they left.

The hospital room fell silent except for the steady beep of monitors.

Julian turned to me, his expression softer than I'd seen it in... maybe ever.

"Two more days," he said, settling into the chair beside my bed. "Then we can go home."

"Okay," I whispered.

He reached for my hand. "How are you feeling? Any pain?"

"No. I'm fine."

"Liar." His thumb traced circles on my palm. "You're always fine, aren't you? Even when you're not."

I didn't know how to answer that.

Julian leaned forward. "I talked to my lawyer this morning," he said quietly. "About Catherine."

"What about her?"

"I'm filing a restraining order. She won't be allowed within five hundred feet of you. And I've already called the board—she's being removed from any Sterling family business dealings." His jaw clenched. "She put our child at risk. There are consequences for that."

Our child.

The way he said it—possessive, protective—made something warm unfurl in my chest.

"Thank you," I whispered.

Julian's eyes met mine, and for once, they weren't cold. They were... searching.

"Elena," he said slowly. "When you said you wanted me to trust you—"

"I meant it." I sat up straighter. "Not just about the baby. About everything. No more assuming the worst. No more believing Victoria's version of events without even asking mine."

He was quiet for a long moment.

"I don't know if I know how to do that," he admitted. "Trust doesn't... come easily to me."

"Then learn."

The words came out sharper than I intended. But fuck it. I was tired. Tired of being doubted, questioned, treated like some manipulative gold-digger when all I'd ever done was love him.

Julian stood abruptly, moving to the window. His back was rigid.

"My whole life," he said quietly, "I've been taught to question everything. Trust is weakness in my world. It's how you get destroyed."

"I'm not your world," I shot back. "I'm your wife. And if you can't trust me—if you can't even try—then what the hell are we doing?"

He spun around, and the look on his face made my breath catch.

Raw. Vulnerable. Terrified.

"I don't want to lose you," he said hoarsely. "Or the baby. I know I've been shit at showing it, but—" He broke off, running a hand through his hair. "Fuck. I don't know how to do this."

"Do what?"

"Care about someone more than myself."

The admission hung in the air between us.

I should've been angry. Should've told him it was too little, too late.

Instead, I held out my hand.

"Come here."

He crossed the room slowly, sinking onto the edge of my hospital bed.

"You don't have to be perfect," I said quietly. "You just have to try. Really try."

Julian's hand found my stomach again, palm warm through the thin hospital gown.

"I will," he promised. "I swear to God, Elena, I'll try."

His forehead dropped to rest against mine, and I let my eyes close.

Maybe I was an idiot. Maybe this would all blow up in my face again.

But for now, in this moment, I chose to believe him.

---

Two days later, we went home.

The penthouse felt different somehow. Less like a prison, more like... something I couldn't quite name yet.

Julian helped me settle onto the couch, propping pillows behind my back like I was made of glass.

"I'm not that fragile," I protested.

"Humor me."

Over the next few weeks, something shifted between us.

Julian came home every night after work. Actually came home for dinner. We'd eat together, making awkward small talk about our days.

Sometimes he'd ask about my design work. I'd started sketching again, tentative ideas for a new collection.

Other times, he'd tell me about board meetings, merger negotiations, the endless politics of running Sterling Conglomerate.

He'd meet every request I made—bringing home weird pregnancy cravings, rubbing my feet when they swelled, holding my hair back when morning sickness hit.

Slowly, carefully, we were learning each other.

It wasn't love. Not yet.

But it was... something.

One evening, about three weeks after the hospital, Julian found me sketching in bed.

"You miss it," he said. Not a question.

"Yeah. I do."

He sat on the edge of the bed. "For now, just focus on taking care of yourself and the baby. Your position at the company—I'm keeping it for you. Whenever you're ready to come back."

The offer was generous. Thoughtful, even.

But it made something twist in my chest.

Because suddenly, I remembered Ethan's offer.

Milan. A fresh start. A chance to prove myself without the Sterling name, without Julian's shadow.

I'd been so caught up in everything—the pregnancy, the hospital, trying to make this marriage work—that I'd completely forgotten about it.

My hand hovered over my phone and sent a text to Ethan: [Sorry, I can't go to Milan anymore.]