Please Come Back, My Love Chapter 86

Elena: POV

I woke to sunlight streaming through the floral curtains. For a second, I forgot where I was.

Then it all came back.

*Florida. Mom's house. Divorced. No baby.*

I sat up slowly. My wrists ached under the bandages. The room was still—too still. No city noise. No Julian's breathing beside me.

*Just me.*

The smell of coffee drifted from the kitchen. I could hear Mom humming softly—some old song she used to sing when I was little.

*She's trying so hard.*

I pulled on a loose cotton dress and shuffled to the kitchen. Mom was at the stove, scrambling eggs. She turned when she heard me, and her face lit up in a way that felt... forced. Too bright.

"Good morning, sweetheart! I made coffee—decaf, don't worry. And eggs. You need to eat."

She looked even thinner in the morning light. The way her blouse hung off her shoulders. The dark circles under her eyes that makeup couldn't quite hide.

*She looks worse than last night.*

I sat at the small table. Picked up the fork, but the eggs might as well have been cardboard.

"Mom," I said quietly. "I meant what I said last night. I want to stay here. With you. For as long as you'll have me."

Her smile wavered. She turned back to the stove, shoulders tense.

"Elena... sweetheart, of course you can stay. But I don't think you'll stay forever, will you? Because you're still young. You have your whole career ahead of you. Your designs, your dreams—" Her voice caught. "You can't just... give all that up to take care of me."

"Mom," I said carefully. "You know that's not what I meant—"

"I know." She cut me off, still not looking at me. "I know you're hurting right now. And I want to be here for you. But I can't—" She paused, gripping the edge of the counter. "I can't let you put your life on hold because of me."

*Because of me.*

*Not 'for' me. 'Because' of me.*

The distinction hit like a slap.

"You're hiding something," I said flatly.

She laughed. Too high-pitched. "Elena, I'm not—"

"Don't." My voice came out sharper than I intended. "Don't lie to me. Not after everything."

She finally turned. Her face was pale, eyes too bright.

For a moment, I thought she'd tell me. Whatever it was—the weight loss, the trembling hands, the shallow breathing.

But then she smiled. That same tired, sad smile from last night.

"It's nothing serious," she said softly. "Just... getting old. That's all."

*Bullshit.*

But the look in her eyes—*please don't push*—made me back down.

'I'll find out eventually,' I thought.

---

After a silent breakfast where neither of us ate much, Mom suddenly stood up.

"You know what?" she said, voice artificially cheerful. "You should see the area. There's so much history here—such a different culture from New York. Very... tropical. Laid-back."

I raised an eyebrow. "Mom—"

"And there's a farmer's market today!" She was already pulling me toward the door. "Fresh fruit, handmade crafts, live music. You'll love it."

*She's deflecting.*

But I let her. Because honestly? I needed the distraction too.

"Plus," she continued, grabbing her purse, "West Palm Beach has this fascinating cultural heritage. Did you know Henry Flagler—the railroad tycoon—built the whole city as a winter resort for the wealthy in the 1890s?"

I blinked. "Uh.?"

"There's a museum and everything. Spanish Revival architecture everywhere. It's beautiful." She looped her arm through mine, practically dragging me out the door. "You'll see."

*When did she become a tour guide?*

But the forced enthusiasm in her voice told me everything I needed to know.

*She's trying to keep me from asking questions.*

---

The farmer's market was packed.

Rows of white tents lined the street, vendors calling out in English and Spanish. The air smelled like fresh bread, citrus, and something grilling. A guitarist played somewhere nearby, the melody lazy and sun-soaked.

Mom perked up immediately. She led me from stall to stall, pointing out local specialties.

"Try this!" She handed me a sample of key lime pie on a tiny plastic fork. "From the best bakery in town."

It was good. Sweet and tangy. But it tasted like dust in my mouth.

*Everything tastes like dust now.*

Still, I forced a smile. "It's great, Mom."

She beamed. Bought a whole pie.

We wandered deeper into the market. Past stalls selling handmade jewelry, tropical flowers, woven baskets. Mom chatted with vendors, her Spanish surprisingly fluent, laughing at jokes I didn't understand.

*She's different here. Lighter.*

For a moment, I could almost see the woman she used to be. Before the Sterling estate. Before serving a family that never really saw her.

*Maybe that's why she left.*

I paused at a stall selling baby clothes.

*No. Don't look.*

But my feet wouldn't move. Tiny onesies with palm tree prints. Little sun hats. A soft yellow blanket.

My throat closed up.

*He would've been born in the spring.*

"Elena?"

Mom's voice pulled me back. She was watching me, concern written all over her face.

"I'm fine," I said quickly. Turned away from the stall.

She didn't push. Just squeezed my hand and led me toward a juice bar.

---

We were standing in line when I saw him.

**Alexander.**

I froze.

He was across the street, talking to a fruit vendor. Dressed casually—linen shirt, sunglasses pushed up on his head. Relaxed. Like he belonged here.

*What the fuck?*

"Elena?" Mom frowned. "What's wrong?"

I couldn't speak. Just stared.

*First Ethan on the plane. Now Alexander at a farmer's market in Florida?*

Could it really be such a coincidence?

Alexander turned, scanning the crowd. His eyes landed on me.

Even from a distance, I saw the recognition.

He smiled. Started walking toward us.

*No. No no no.*

"Elena?" Mom repeated, alarmed now.

I shook my head, unable to form words.

My heart pounded.

How could he be here?

Alexander crossed the street, weaving through the crowd. Closer. Close enough that I could see his expression—surprised, pleased, maybe a little concerned.

Mom followed my gaze. "Do you know him?"

"Yeah," I said faintly. "I... yeah."

*This is insane. Absolutely insane.*

Alexander reached us, pulling off his sunglasses. His face broke into a warm smile.

"Elena," he said. "What a surprise."