The porch light buzzed quietly above, as Mikaela stood in its warm and flickering glow. Her knuckles hovered just inches from the wooden door, suspended in hesitation. Her chest rose and fell with a slow rhythm. Somewhere in the distance, the soft and steady hum of night insects played like a warning. The silence of the street pressed in on her. It was heavy and still. It felt almost like the world was holding its breath, but she knocked anyway.
The door creaked open and the sound was loud in the quiet night.
Mrs. Elliot appeared in the doorway, while blinking behind her round glasses. Her silvering hair was piled into a loose, tired bun that looked like it had been struggling to stay up since afternoon. A frayed pink robe hung around her frame. It cinched at the waist and her slippers flattened beneath her heels. She looked like someone pulled from a dream and dropped gently into reality. Her eyes widened in a quiet kind of surprise.
"Mikaela?" she asked, her voice a hushed whisper as she tugged her robe a little tighter. "It's past nine. Is everything alright?"
"No," Mikaela said. The honesty in her voice gave it a sharp edge. It was quiet and thin, barely standing on its own. "Can I come in?"
Mrs. Elliot didn't pause, neither did she ask anything more. She stepped aside at once with her voice calm. "Of course, come in."
They moved together into the soft, familiar lamplight of the kitchen. The room was warm and lived-in. It was also worn at the edges like a favorite sweater. The scent of mint tea still lingered faintly in the air and the kettle on the counter was warm to the touch, like it had only just finished boiling. Without a word, Mrs. Elliot filled it and set it back onto the stove with practiced hands.
"Sit," she said, motioning toward the small wooden table.
Mikaela obeyed. She folded her hands in her lap like she used to when she was younger, before the weight of so many years settled across her shoulders. Tonight, something about her seemed older. Her posture remained graceful, but her frame looked thinner and almost delicate. It looked like she was holding too much and trying not to spill any of it. Her scarf hung loosely over her head, slipped halfway to one side. She didn't reach to fix it.
Mrs. Elliot placed two chipped floral mugs on the table. They were the same ones from years ago.
"I was up reading," she said in a light tone as she took the seat across from her. "Some old devotional. I thought of you earlier."
Mikaela gave her a small, tired smile. "Did you?"
"You crossed my mind around evening prayer. I had this feeling something was stirring. Is it Ashley?"
Mikaela nodded, fingers tightening around the warm mug. "She called."
Mrs. Elliot tilted her head slightly. "Sounded normal?"
"At first. She talked about missing me. She asked how I was doing. She also mentioned her job was more stressful than she thought it would be."
Mrs. Elliot smiled gently. "That sounds like a typical Ashley call."
Mikaela's lips curved upward, but her eyes didn't join in the smile. "Then she mentioned a letter."
The words dropped like stones into a still pond, their weight rippling through the room.
Mrs. Elliot's face lost its softness. "What kind of letter?"
Mikaela lowered her gaze. Her voice was quiet, nearly a whisper. "One I never meant for her to find. The kind you burn before it breathes. The kind you bury deep, hoping no one ever knows it existed."
Mrs. Elliot didn't blink. "It was his, wasn't it?"
Mikaela nodded slowly. Her hand rose to her chest, as if trying to hold her heart still. "She didn't understand what it meant, thank God. But she quoted it word for word."
Her throat tightened. "She said… They told me to forget you. That love wasn't worth it. But every night I close my eyes and see the life we should have had. And it was signed… N.C."
Mrs. Elliot exhaled slowly, her eyes narrowing with the weight of memory. "Nathaniel Cross."
Mikaela nodded again. The room went silent.
It was Mrs. Elliot who spoke first. Her voice was careful. "Did you tell her anything?"
"No. Not a word. But it's all bubbling up now." Mikaela let out a bitter little laugh. "Funny how the past doesn't stay buried. It claws its way out when you least expect it."
"Did she sound confused?"
Mikaela shook her head. "No. She did not sound confused. Just… curious. Maybe a little unnerved. But she has no idea what she's holding in her hands."
Mrs. Elliot leaned back, releasing a slow breath from somewhere deep. "You've kept this from her for so long. That wasn't selfish, Mikaela. That was protection."
"I don't know anymore," she whispered, staring into the steam rising from her tea. "Maybe I robbed her. Maybe I clipped her wings before she even knew she had them."
Mrs. Elliot leaned forward, her eyes sharp now. "What would you have told her?"
Mikaela flinched.
"Mikaela, you saved her."
"I don't feel like a savior," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I feel like a coward."
Mrs. Elliot reached over and gently squeezed her hand.
"She's in that house," Mikaela said suddenly, her voice shaking. "With their sons. With their legacy. With… her."
"You mean Mrs. Cross."
Mikaela's jaw clenched at the name.
"She doesn't even know how much danger she's in."
"She's resilient," Mrs. Elliot said gently. "But she's young and she has a heart that believes in the best of people. Sometimes that's more of a curse than a gift."
Mikaela's voice trembled. "That woman, she chews girls like Ashley up. She spits them out with their hearts mangled and their spirits torn. And I let Ashley go there. I let her go out of desperation."
"She always hated you."
"She hated the idea of me," Mikaela said, her voice tight. "She hated that I dared to exist. And now Ashley's under that same roof, and I'm here, unable to help."
"You can help," Mrs. Elliot said. Her voice was quiet, but steady. "But only if it's time."
Mikaela buried her face in her hands. "That's what I came to ask. Is it time?"
Mrs. Elliot hesitated. Then she stood, walked to the pantry, and brought back an old box of crackers. She placed it on the table between them, just like they used to when things were simpler. When the world still made a little sense.
"You're the only one who knows when it's time."
"That's not helpful," Mikaela murmured.
"It's still true."
"I used to imagine telling her," she said softly. "Every birthday. Every first day of school. I would think to myself, this is the year. This is the moment I'll finally explain. But then life happened."
"And pain happened," Mrs. Elliot added gently.
"And shame. So much shame. More than I ever expected."
Mrs. Elliot met her gaze. "But you know what love is, Mikaela."
"I don't need the reminder."
"You do," she said firmly. "Because somewhere along the way, you convinced yourself that what you felt was wrong. You buried it deep and called it sin. But it wasn't. It was the only pure thing in a place full of poison."
Mikaela let out a small laugh. "You just cussed."
Mrs. Elliot rolled her eyes. "I'm old. I've earned the right."
They both chuckled softly, and for a brief second, it felt like they had traveled back twenty years. Like time had folded in on itself.
"I don't know what to do," Mikaela said at last. "I don't know if I should tell her… or just pray it fades away."
Mrs. Elliot looked into her tea. "Things that are buried don't rot. They fester. And when they rise, they rise angry."
There was nothing left to say after that.
"I'll wait," Mikaela said quietly. "But if she starts putting the pieces together… I won't lie anymore."
Mrs. Elliot nodded slowly. "That's all any of us can do."
Mikaela stood. Her shawl was pulled tightly around her shoulders again. "I don't feel any lighter."
"You're not supposed to. You just laid down a truth the size of an anvil."
They walked back to the front door. Mrs. Elliot opened it. Cool air drifted in from the street.
Mikaela paused at the step, turning back. "Do you think she'll hate me?"
Mrs. Elliot studied her. Her eyes were thoughtful.
"No," she said finally. "But I think she'll never be the same."
Mikaela's eyes flickered.
"She'll never forgive me," she whispered, "not when she finds out what I did to save her."
Just then, the phone rang inside the house. The sound echoed into the quiet.
They both turned.
Mrs. Elliot frowned. "Are you expecting someone?"
Mikaela gave her phone a sideways look, face tensing. "No."
She turned slowly toward the door again, as if trying to gather herself.
Her voice came out barely louder than a breath. "Should I tell her what I did to save her?"
Her eyes were glassy now, not from the night wind, but from everything she had just remembered. They were glassy from the pieces of herself she had locked away and never wanted to look at again.
Mrs. Elliot stepped closer. Her expression didn't shift. It didn't soften. She didn't blink.
"No," she said at last, with a quiet firmness that carried more weight than a scream.
"Because if you do… she may never see you the same again."