After the Last Tear: Rising from the Ashes of a Broken Marriage novel Chapter 80

I never thought I'd see Pax again.

But fate, it seemed, had a cruel sense of humor.

Two years later, on another Christmas Eve, as Berlin slipped into wintertime, I found myself walking through streets dusted in the season's first snowfall. The golden glow of streetlamps flickered against frost-coated windows, the world outside hushed and serene.

Inside the lab, however, serenity was the last thing on our professor's mind.

"This one's going to be a handful," she muttered, rubbing her temples in exasperation.

Her frustration was so uncharacteristic that Erike and I exchanged amused glances.

"What's the problem, Professor?" Erike asked, barely suppressing a grin.

"A hard case," she sighed. "Connections. Family money. One of those. Can't be fired, hard to manage—what a headache."

Then, as if resigning herself to fate, she looked between the two of us.

"So? Which one of you is going to mentor him?"

A man, then.

I instinctively took a full step back.

"Erike you do it." I shook my head with mock solemnity.

"I'd hate for her to fall helplessly in love with me."

A voice came from behind me.

A voice I hadn't heard in two years.

"Cecilia."

I stilled.

For a moment, I thought I had imagined it.

But when I turned, there he was.

Pax Brown.

Standing in our lab.

That night, he officially joined our team.

And in the weeks that followed he shattered nine beakers.

Forgot to turn off the equipment fifteen times.

By the time he nearly melted an expensive sensor, I couldn't take it anymore.

I turned to him and, for the first time in two years, I spoke to him directly.

"Maybe you should just marry a beaker."

Pax froze.

For a second, he just stared at me.

Then his eyes turned red.

"Cecilia," he breathed, voice raw. "Does this mean you've finally forgiven me?"

"Pax, what does this have to do with anyone else?"

I looked at him—really looked at him.

"I just can't tolerate being lied to."

"You lied to me once, and I will never be able to trust you again."

There was a time when the thought of leaving him had made my chest ache.

A time when just the idea of walking away had felt like ripping myself apart.

But I had left.

And I had survived.

Because the truth was I didn't want to spend the rest of my life questioning.

Did he love me?

Was I enough?

Would I always come first?

I had no interest in becoming that kind of woman.

So I smiled—soft, distant, untouchable.

"You're a mess, Pax. You're terrible at this. Please don't ruin our lab too."

Then, just as gently "Can you not make me hate you?"