Chapter One
Izzy
The distance between us.
I was always the center of their world. From the moment I entered the Richmond household, I could feel it in the way they looked at me like I was the answer to years of yearning, I was adopted at the age of nine, and I had rejections from many couples because I was all grown up, I barely knew my biological father, but I know I could still remember my biological mom, Bailey, she died when I was five years old to Cancer, so as my Dad, then I was taken into a foster care, as none of my extended family came for me.
Mr. Leo Richmond, with his soft-spoken voice and steady hands, became the father I had always longed for, but never knew I needed, And Mrs Nora, my Mom, though not biologically mine, wrapped me in a warmth that went far beyond the law books she spent most of her days immersed in, she was dedicated to me in a way I had always imagined a mother should be, unwavering, protective and fiercely loving.
I don't think I ever questioned my place in their lives, They had made it clear from day one that I was theirs, and I had no reasons to doubt it, I grew up feeling as though I was their greatest joy, of which I am, and a blessing that completes the life they had dreamed of. My world was safe, warm, and secure, I had everything I could ever want, especially in the sense of family.
But as a child, you don't think about the sacrifices your parents make, and you don't realize how much of their lives they pour into you until you are older, As I grew up, the realization hit me slowly, the weight of their expectations, the love that was almost too much at times, but always coming from the purest intentions.
The love was there. But with love, comes pressure, and in my case, I didn't see it coming.
I remember the day I met Carl like it was yesterday, He had that air about him, confident, a little aloof, but with eyes that seemed to see right through me, The first time we talked, it was as though we understood something without having to say much, it wasn't love at first sight, not exactly, but something about him felt right in a way I couldn't ignore, He wasn't like the men I had known, successful, yes, but there was a quiet complexity to him that intrigued me. And as we spent more time together, I saw how layered he was, like a puzzle waiting to be solved.
We married almost three years ago, and though it's been the best decision of my life, it's not without its challenges. Carl's a renowned heart surgeon, and I'm a defense attorney. Both of us are at the top of our careers, both of us stretched thin by conflicting schedules. There are days when I feel like we pass each other in the hallways of our lives, our moments together fleeting but precious. We cling to the time we do get, and when we're together, it feels like the world stops spinning. But it's rare. Too rare.
Some days, I wish I could go back to that simple childhood, back to when I didn't have to manage so much when I didn't have to carry the weight of my choices on my shoulders.
But that's not possible. Life doesn't wait for you to catch up. So, here I am—caught between the life I've built with Carl and the memories of a family who gave me everything.
And yet, there's a part of me that's always felt something missing. Even now, in my marriage, I can't shake the feeling that something is waiting to surface. Something I'm not ready to face, even though it's inching closer every day.
One morning after a long napping, the silence in our home was like the kind that settles in after a long day of missed calls and empty spaces and is starting to feel heavier. Carl's been in the OR more often lately, and even when he's here, his mind is somewhere else, consumed by the next surgery, the next patient, the next challenge. I try not to hold it against him, it's who he is, after all. He's saving lives, and I admire him for it. But sometimes, I wonder if anyone's saving us.
I poured myself a glass of wine and sat by the window, staring at the city lights below, The view from our Penthouse was stunning, but tonight, the glow seemed distant, as if it belonged to someone else, I think about what it would have been like to have a simpler life, no pressure, no expectations, no secrets lurking just beneath the surface.
I set the glass down, my fingers trembling slightly. I have been keeping so many things to myself, convincing myself that I can manage it all. But there's a nagging feeling that won't go away. A feeling that everything I've been avoiding is about to come crashing into my life, and I don't know if I'm ready for it.
"Dinner's ready," Carl says from the kitchen, his voice pulling me back to the present.
I stood up, pushed the thoughts away, and walked toward him. He's busy setting the table, his movements efficient, but his eyes are far away, lost in some thought I can't reach. I forced a smile, but I knew it was not the same. I know he can sense the shift, the change in the air, but neither of us knows how to address it.
We sat down to eat, the silence between us thick, only broken by the clinking of silverware and the occasional half-hearted question about our day. I wanted to reach out, to ask him about the things I've been feeling, but there's a part of me that was scared. Scared of what I might hear, scared of what it might mean for us.
Carl sets down his fork, finally meeting my eyes. "Izzy, what's going on? You've been distant lately."
His voice is soft, but there's a trace of concern in it. I swallow hard, my mind racing. I want to tell him everything, the things I've been keeping hidden, the doubts I've been fighting. But I can't. Not yet.
"I'm fine," I lied, my voice barely above a whisper. "Just tired."
He nods, but I can tell he doesn't believe me. The tension lingers between us, unspoken but undeniable.
After dinner, we retreat to the living room. I curl up on the couch, Carl beside me, but it feels like we're on opposite ends of the universe. I know he's trying, but it's not enough. Not anymore. The clock ticks in the background, a constant reminder of how much time is slipping away. How much time we've lost.
As I close my eyes, I can't shake the feeling that something is coming. Something big. The kind of thing that changes everything. I don't know if I'm ready for it, but I can feel it in my bones—this is the moment when everything shifts
.
And I'm not sure if I can hold on any longer.