As I emerged from the back room, my eyes scanned the coffee shop, searching for a familiar face. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the gentle hum of conversation filled the air, but my senses were dulled by the emotional turmoil brewing inside me. And then, I saw him – Elijah, seated on one of the chairs at the extreme end of the coffee shop, his eyes fixed intently on me.
My heart skipped a beat as our gazes met. I walked towards him, my feet heavy with emotion, each step feeling like a struggle. Elijah stood up, a warm smile spreading across his face, and opened his arms for a hug.
But I wasn't in the mood for affection. I pushed him back gently, my voice firm, trying to keep my emotions in check.
"Elijah, I need to talk to you," I said, anger simmering beneath the surface.
Elijah's expression turned concerned, his brow furrowing. "What's wrong?" he asked.
I took a deep breath, the words tumbling out in a rush.
"Your mom came here today. She said you called her, asking about her trip, but you didn't mention anything about talking to her about us. You told me you'd stand up for me, but it seems like you're not willing to confront her."
Elijah's face fell, his eyes filling with regret.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I just didn't want to rock the boat."
My anger boiled over.
"Rock the boat? You're willing to let your mom treat me like dirt, and you don't even have the courage to stand up for me?"
Elijah reached out, but I pushed him away.
"Answer me," I demanded. "Do you truly love me, or am I just a distraction from your family's expectations?"
Elijah's eyes locked onto mine.
"I love you," he said, his voice firm. "You're not a distraction. You're the woman I want to spend my life with."
But I couldn't hold back the tears. They streamed down my face, a torrent of pain and doubt.
"How can I trust you?" I sobbed. "How can I know you'll stand up for me when it counts?"
Elijah pulled me into his arms, holding me close.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'll do better. I promise."
His words were a balm to my soul, soothing the hurt. I cried, and Elijah held me, his arms a safe haven.
As I wept, Elijah stroked my hair, his touch gentle.
"I love you," he repeated. "I'll always stand up for you."
Slowly, my tears subsided, replaced by a sense of determination.
"We need to talk to your mom," I said, my voice firm.
Elijah nodded.
"Together," he said.
"We'll face this together," I added.
Elijah's eyes locked onto mine.
"Always," he said.
In that moment, I knew we'd overcome this challenge, our love strong enough to weather any storm.
As work closed for the day, I followed Elijah to the hotel where his mom, Mrs. Sutton, was staying. The luxurious lobby gleamed with polished marble and crystal chandeliers, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing inside me. The soft hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses from the hotel bar created a sense of sophistication, but my nerves were on edge. Elijah's hand found mine, his grip reassuring, as we walked towards the elevator.
We rode the elevator to Mrs. Sutton's suite, my heart racing with anticipation. Elijah's hand remained entwined with mine, a steady presence that calmed my frazzled nerves. The doors slid open, revealing a lavish suite with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Mrs. Sutton welcomed us into her lounge, her eyes narrowing as she took in our intertwined hands. Her gaze lingered, a hint of disapproval flickering across her face.
"Mother," Elijah said, his voice firm, "we need to talk." Mrs. Sutton's expression softened as she hugged her son, her eyes never leaving mine. "Of course, dear," she replied, her voice dripping with warmth. Elijah led me to the couch, and we sat together, facing his mother. The tension was palpable, the air thick with unspoken emotions.
"Mother, why are you behaving this way towards her?" Elijah asked, his voice low and even. Mrs. Sutton's eyes flashed with emotion, her face a picture of concern. "You're just blind, Elijah," she said, her voice trembling. "You don't know what you want. You're still hurting from the past." Elijah's grip on my hand tightened, a subtle sign of support. "That's not true, Mother," he said. "She's the love of my life." Mrs. Sutton's laughter was laced with sadness, a hint of desperation.
"Five years ago, when you came to the city, you were heartbroken," she said, her voice dripping with emotion. "You'd been rejected by this very woman because she didn't know you, because you hadn't transformed into the man you are today." Her words struck a chord, and I remembered that day, the pain in Elijah's eyes. "And I was the one who motivated you to start the gym, to fix your life," Mrs. Sutton continued. "Now that you've transformed into a perfect man, she's back, claiming you as her own." Her voice cracked, and for a moment, I saw a glimmer of the pain she'd endured, the sacrifices she'd made for her son.
But I knew I wasn't here because of Elijah's wealth or status. I opened my mouth to speak, but Elijah beat me to it. "Mother, that's not fair," he said. "She loves me for who I am, not what I have." Mrs. Sutton's gaze snapped to mine, searching for answers. I took a deep breath, my words spilling out. "Elijah's transformation isn't just about physical appearance," I said. "It's about the kindness, compassion, and love he shows me. That's what drew me to him, not his wealth or status." Elijah's eyes locked onto mine, his expression filled with gratitude.
Mrs. Sutton's expression softened, and for a moment, I saw a glimmer of understanding. But the wariness lingered, a deep-seated fear that I would hurt her son. "I want to protect you, Elijah," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Elijah's eyes never left mine. "I understand, Mother," he replied. "But you can't protect me from love." The tension hung in the air, a fragile truce.
Mrs. Sutton's expression darkened, her eyes flashing with anger like a stormy sky. "You think you're so perfect, don't you?" she spat, her voice venomous, each word dripping with malice. "But I know the truth. I know about your past mistakes, the ones you've so conveniently forgotten."
Elijah's eyes dropped, his face etched with discomfort, his brow furrowed in distress. He knew the truth, and he knew his mother wasn't lying. The tension in the room was palpable, thick with unspoken emotions.
"Mother, please," Elijah said, his voice soft, placating, but Mrs. Sutton wouldn't be silenced. Her words poured out like a torrent, each one a razor-sharp dagger piercing my heart.
"You cheated on your ex-boyfriend, left him heartbroken," Mrs. Sutton hurled, her voice dripping with disdain. "And now you're here, pretending to love Elijah, but it's all just a game to you, isn't it? You're just using him for his wealth, his status, his family's influence."
I felt like I'd been punched in the gut, my breath knocked out of me. My past mistakes, laid bare for Elijah to see, like an open wound. I couldn't meet his eyes, couldn't bear the thought of him seeing me in this light.
"Elijah knows all about it," I stammered, tears welling up in my eyes like a dam about to burst. "I told him everything."
But Mrs. Sutton wasn't finished. She was relentless, driven by a desire to protect her son from what she saw as a threat.
"You're just a repeat offender," she spat. "You'll hurt Elijah just like you hurt your ex. You're not capable of loving anyone but yourself."
Elijah's eyes met mine, filled with hurt and apology. He knew his mother's words were true, but he also knew I'd grown, changed. He saw the pain in my eyes and wanted to comfort me.
"Mother, stop," Elijah said, his voice firm, authoritative, but Mrs. Sutton's momentum was unstoppable.
"You're not good enough for Elijah," she spat, her voice dripping with venom. "You never will be. He deserves better than someone like you."
I knew I couldn't take it anymore. I stood up, tears streaming down my face like a river. My heart was heavy with shame, my spirit crushed.
"I shouldn't be here," I said, my voice shaking, barely audible. "I'm sorry, Elijah."
Elijah stood up, his eyes filled with concern, his face etched with pain.
"Don't go," he said, his voice soft, urgent, but I was already running, fleeing from the reality of my past mistakes.
As I ran, Mrs. Sutton's words echoed in my mind like a mantra.
"You're not good enough... You're not good enough..."
Tears blinded me, my heart heavy with shame. I couldn't escape the truth in her words. My past mistakes haunted me, a constant reminder of my inadequacy.
I stumbled out of the hotel, into the cool night air, gasping for breath. The city lights blurred together, a kaleidoscope of color and sound. I felt lost, alone, and adrift in a sea of uncertainty.
The tears streamed down my face, a torrent of pain and regret. I had thought I'd left my past behind, but it had caught up with me, haunting me like a ghost.