Aurora's Realm
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Grandpa's words rang in my head, heavy and final: I would go to Dominic's house.
I didn't argue—I couldn't. My throat was tight, the words never came, and besides… arguing against Grandpa was never an option.
Still, inside, I felt the ground tilt beneath me. Living with Dominic? The thought sent a cold shiver running through me.
I kept my eyes on my hands, fingers twisted together in my lap. If I looked at him, I knew I'd see it—the sharp lines of his jaw, the disapproval in his eyes, the silent resistance he carried in every part of his body.
He didn't want this any more than I did.
When I finally dared a glance, I caught his profile. Hard. Cold. Unreadable. He sat like a man carved from stone, and I felt smaller just being across from him.
His mother's voice tried to soften the moment. She spoke gently, hopefully, as if her words could smooth the cracks between us.
When her eyes fell on me, I managed a small nod. It was all I had. A promise that I would obey.
The scrape of Grandpa's chair pulled me back, and his warm hand brushed against mine. That simple touch steadied me in a way nothing else could.
His smile told me I would be fine, even when my chest felt tight with dread.
I smiled back, barely, but inside I wondered how I would manage. Because no matter how much I tried to stay calm, I knew one thing for certain—nothing would ever be the same after today.
The conversation lingered long after Grandpa's decision, filling the room with a quiet tension that clung to every breath.
Dominic's mother leaned forward, her voice carrying warmth that tried to smooth the jagged edges left behind.
"She doesn't have to rush," she said, turning to Grandpa. "Give her a week. I'll make sure the house is ready, comfortable… she should feel at ease before moving in." Her hand brushed against mine on the table, and I felt the reassurance she meant to pass to me.
But before Grandpa could answer, Dominic's voice cut through, low and unyielding.
"The house is already prepared. She can come anytime."
The sharpness of his tone made me flinch, though his face betrayed nothing but indifference. His eyes didn't meet mine—they never did for long—but I felt the weight of his cold certainty pressing against me all the same.
Grandpa sighed, leaning back in his chair, the calm authority in his voice settling over the table like a firm hand. "She will come in a week, Dominic. She needs time to settle herself before such a change."
The finality of his tone silenced whatever Dominic might have added. My chest loosened just a fraction, grateful for the reprieve, though the week felt both far too short and impossibly long.
When the time came for them to leave, we all rose together. Dominic's mother embraced Grandpa warmly, her voice carrying the soft, familiar rhythm of her greetings.
I watched the exchange quietly, my lips curving into a polite smile when her gaze landed on me. She drew me into a brief, gentle hug that smelled faintly of lavender.
Dominic stood apart, coldly composed, his posture rigid as he gave a curt nod toward Grandpa and then a short, clipped glance at me. No warmth. No words wasted.
Outside, I noticed it immediately—his mother's car pulling forward with her driver, and Dominic striding toward his own sleek, dark car parked separately. Even in leaving, he made it clear: they traveled their own paths.
The engines hummed to life, the sound fading slowly down the driveway. And then the house was quiet again—too quiet—leaving me with the echo of Grandpa's ruling, and the weight of what was coming.
I slipped away to my room once the dishes were cleared and the voices downstairs began to fade. The quiet of the walls felt heavier tonight, wrapping around me as I sat by the edge of my bed, staring at the faint glow of the lamp.
My mind replayed the day—the way Dominic's presence loomed cold and immovable, the way his mother's words stirred new realities, the way Grandpa's ruling sealed it all.
I pressed my knees to my chest, wishing I could still the rush of thoughts.
A soft knock came, followed by the door creaking open. Alex leaned against the frame, hair still a little rumpled from his earlier nap, eyes carrying that easy mischief he always wore.
"You're brooding," he said, stepping in without waiting for me to argue. "Don't deny it, I can see it written all over your face."
I gave him a look, one I hoped was unconvincing enough to draw out his teasing, and it worked. He chuckled, dropping onto the chair across from me.
"You've handled today better than most would," he said, his tone gentler now, layered with that protective edge only he carried when it came to me. "But you don't have to carry it all by yourself. You've got me. Always."
I smiled faintly, lowering my gaze to my fingers.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I'll be heading back tomorrow morning," he added, watching me carefully. "The companies need me. Work won't run itself, unfortunately." A half-smile touched his lips.
"But don't think for one second that distance means I'm leaving you alone in all this."
I swallowed, the knot in my chest loosening just a little.
"I'll call. Every day if I have to. And if Dominic gives you trouble, you tell me. I'll come back here and deal with him myself." His grin widened, teasing, though his eyes carried nothing but sincerity. "Don't look so shocked. I've fought scarier people than him, you know."
I shook my head at his dramatics, but the warmth of his words reached me.
"You're stronger than you think, Aurora," he finished softly. "And I'm proud of you."
Silence stretched between us, comfortable this time. He patted my shoulder before standing, ruffling my hair the way he always did when he wanted to remind me I was still his little sister.
"Get some sleep," he said at the door. "Tomorrow's another long day."
And when he left, the room felt quieter again, but not so heavy. Not so lonely.
I curled beneath my blankets, the sound of rain still whispering faintly against the windows, and let sleep finally pull me under.
One day became two.
Two became three.
And before I knew it, a week had slipped through my fingers like water.
The days blurred into each other, each morning beginning with the same routine of tending the garden, each evening ending in the soft quiet of the house.
Alex had left the morning after, just like he said he would, though his messages and calls filled the spaces he couldn't.
Grandpa kept me steady with his usual presence, Edna with her quiet warmth. Still, in the corners of my mind, the thought of what was coming never really left.
A week. That was the promise. That was the time I had been given to settle myself before… before everything changed.
And now, the week was over.
I stood in my room, watching Edna fold and arrange my clothes into neat stacks. The sight felt heavier than it should have, each folded piece reminding me of what lay ahead. My canvases had already been moved to their corners, my brushes and paints packed carefully into a box. Even the familiar scent of the room seemed to know I would not be staying.
Grandpa's voice carried faintly up the stairs, steady and certain, discussing with Dominic's mother about my move. Every word that reached me was a reminder: I was leaving here. Going to him.
My heart pressed against my ribs as I touched the edge of my dresser, anchoring myself.
This house, these walls, this rhythm of quiet days—it had been my safety. But safety, it seemed, was no longer mine to keep.
I found Grandpa in his study, the familiar smell of old books and tea settling around me like a blanket. He looked up the moment I stepped in, his eyes softening as if he already knew why I was there.
I sank onto the chair across from him, folding my hands in my lap. I didn't need words for him to understand. I never did.
He leaned back, watching me for a moment, then spoke in that steady, unshakable tone of his.
"You're stronger than you think, child. You've always been. Don't let the walls of another house make you feel any smaller than you are."
My throat ached, but I nodded slowly, blinking against the weight in my chest.
"Dominic may be cold," Grandpa continued, his eyes sharpening, "but coldness doesn't mean cruelty. Remember that. Hold your ground. Be patient, but never forget yourself."
A tear slid down my cheek before I could stop it. He reached across the desk, his hand warm and sure on top of mine.
"You will always have a home here, Aurora. No matter what happens, this is yours."
I drew in a shaky breath, nodding again, my grip tightening around his fingers. The truth of his words steadied me, even as the thought of leaving pressed harder against me.
When I finally rose, he gave me one last smile—the kind that told me he believed in me more than I believed in myself.
"Go on, my dear. Face what's ahead. And remember—you carry this family's strength with you."
Those words clung to me as I turned away, carrying me step by step toward what waited.
Then, before I could stop myself, I moved around the desk and leaned down to hug him. His arms went around me without hesitation—strong, steady, grounding.
I buried my face into his shoulder, holding onto the warmth, the safety, the love that had always been my anchor.
"You'll be all right," he murmured against my hair, his voice deep and sure. "No matter where you go, you'll be all right."
I squeezed him tighter, willing myself to believe it, to carry it with me. When I finally pulled back, my eyes were wet, but his smile caught them like sunlight.
One last look. One last touch. Then I turned and left the study, the echo of his words and the comfort of his embrace following me out.
I wiped my cheeks quickly as I stepped out of Grandpa's study. My bag was already waiting by the door, looking far too ready while my heart dragged its feet.
The crunch of tires on gravel made me turn, and through the window, I saw Alex's car pulling in. Relief washed over me, though I hadn't realized I'd been holding my breath.
He had promised he would be here, but with Alex, work always came first. Yet here he was, a little rumpled, his tie loosened, but his smile soft as he walked up the steps.
"Made it just in time," he said, slightly out of breath, and though I couldn't answer, the look I gave him was enough. His hand brushed my hair back briefly, brotherly and protective.
Grandpa joined us at the doorway, his steps slower but steady, his eyes lingering on me as if he wanted to memorize every detail. The car horn outside reminded me it was time.
I bent to lift my bag, but Grandpa's hand pressed gently over mine. "Remember," he said in that voice that always carried both weight and comfort, "home isn't something you leave behind. It's something you carry with you."
I nodded, the sting of tears rising again, and when I turned, Alex was already there with open arms.
I fell into his embrace, and he whispered low near my ear, teasing and soft at once, "Don't let that man think you're fragile. You're a Sinclair. Make him see it."
A shaky laugh slipped from me. I hugged him tighter before stepping back and turning to Grandpa.
Without hesitation, I wrapped my arms around him too. His warmth, his steadiness—it anchored me one last time.
The driver opened the car door, polite and patient. I climbed inside slowly, my eyes flicking back to see Alex and Grandpa standing side by side, watching me.
Alex gave me a firm nod, Grandpa a quiet smile.
And then the car rolled forward, the house shrinking behind me, piece by piece, until it disappeared from sight.
Gone, but not lost. Never lost.