Chapter 137: Distance Like a Shadow
The suitcases stood like silent traitors by the marble - tiled entrance of the Ainsley estate.
Eva had known the day would come — her parents had said so weeks ago, their messages precise and impossibly cheerful: "Just a few months back home, darling. We miss you. And you should spend time with your family."
But "family," to Eva, no longer meant the cold grandeur of P•••••• mansions or elegant names spoken with champagne. Family had become one thing.
One person.
Seraphina.
"I don't want to go," Eva whispered for the fifth time, clinging to Seraphina's skirt with white - knuckled desperation. Her fingers twisted into the pleats near Seraphina's waist as though she could anchor herself to her — disappear into her softness. Her nose pressed into the ruffles of her blouse. "Please, Ina. Let me stay. Just… hide me somewhere. You always know how."
Her voice cracked, brittle with unspent tears, and her whole body trembled. Logic told her she'd return in two months. Her mind accepted it. But her heart — her heart screamed like a child abandoned.
Seraphina knelt gracefully, brushing back the silky waves of Eva's long, chestnut brown curly wavy hair — now kissed with tinted blue that shimmered when the morning light struck it just right. Eva's pale grey eyes, red-rimmed and glistening, looked up like a storm barely held back.
"Oh, moonbeam," Seraphina murmured. Her fingers brushed under Eva's eyes to catch a tear before it fell.
Eva hiccupped. "I — I can't breathe without you."
Seraphina smiled softly, even as her own throat closed. "You'll come back, remember? It's just two months. In the blink of an eye".
"Two months is forever!" Eva wailed, launching herself into Seraphina's arms. Her body curled in like a fragile vine, looping tight around Seraphina's shoulders. "What if you disappear while I'm gone? What if someone takes you away? What if I forget your laugh? Or your smell?"
"You could never forget," Seraphina whispered, pressing her lips to Eva's temple. "I'll still be right here. And you know what? I'll count every hour until you're back."
Eva squeezed tighter, her face buried in Seraphina's sweater, her tiny hands curled into fists against her chest. Her voice broke into a high - pitched, hiccupping sob.
"I hate this! I hate jets and airports and suitcases! I hate their ugly house with all the glass that makes weird echoes! I hate their boring grown - up dinners and the way the chairs are too big and the forks are always cold!"
Her breath came out in ragged hiccups, tears soaking through the fabric. Seraphina gently rubbed her back, murmuring soft shh sounds, but Eva's flood had started, and there was no stopping it now.
"I hate their ugly pillows that don't smell like lavender — they smell like nothing!" she wailed. "And the soap smells like… like math! It smells like homework!"
Seraphina blinked, lips twitching in spite of the ache.
Eva's voice wobbled again. "And I hate their furniture, it's all pointy and gray like it doesn't even want me there! And their house is so quiet it makes my ears scream!"
She sniffled, her cheeks blotchy with emotion, then whispered the cruelest thing she could think of:
"I hate my maman and mère — auntie Vivienne. And my papa too."
There was a stunned silence, like even the room didn't believe her.
But Seraphina didn't flinch.
Because she knew.
And because just a heartbeat later, Eva gasped and rushed to fix it, as if she'd committed a crime against heaven.
"No — I don't — I didn't mean that! I love them. I love them so much it hurts, and I don't know why I said that!" Her voice cracked again. "I'm just — I'm scared, and they're always so busy and serious, and Papa doesn't hug me right, and Maman smells like roses but not your roses and — and — and —!"
She broke off into a howl, almost feral in its sorrow, as if the act of leaving had torn something from her chest.
Seraphina lowered to her knees, drawing Eva fully into her arms.
"I know, little moonbeam," she murmured, pressing her cheek against her hair. "I know you didn't mean it. You're just full of too many feelings and nowhere to put them."
Eva nodded fiercely, hiccupping into her collarbone. "It's like… like my heart's all sharp inside and I can't breathe unless you're with me."
Seraphina kissed the crown of her head. "I'm always with you, mon rayon de lune
(My moonbeam). Even when you fly away in your terrible jet that smells like shoe leather."
Eva let out a wet giggle and hiccuped again. "It does smell like shoes!"
"There, you see? You're already braver than anyone I know."
Eva pulled back just a little, her lower lip trembling. "Will you really write to me?"
Seraphina smiled softly, brushing a tear from her cheek. "I'll write so often your postman will beg for mercy."
"Even if you're super busy?"
"I'll never be too busy for you."
Eva sniffled, her voice just a hush. "What about texting?"
"I'll text you in the morning and at night," Seraphina promised, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Eva's ear. "With silly emojis and secret code words only we understand."
Eva blinked through her tears. "What's our code word?"
Seraphina tapped her chin in mock thought. "Hmm… How about 'Mooncheese'?"
Eva scrunched her nose. "That's awful."
"Exactly. So bad no one will ever guess it's important."
A soft giggle slipped through her sadness. "Okay. But… what if I need to see your face? Can we video call too?"
"Absolutely," Seraphina said, leaning forward so their foreheads nearly touched. "We'll have bedtime story calls, morning toast check - ins, emergency fashion crises, and 'I - just - miss - you' sessions."
Eva's arms wrapped around her again, tighter. "Even if I call in the middle of the night?"
"I'll answer," Seraphina whispered. "Even if I'm asleep, with drool on my pillow and my hair a complete mess."
Eva giggled weakly. "You don't drool."
"I do. Especially if I dream about raspberry tarts."
Eva burrowed into her shoulder. "You'll send me those too, right?"
"Cross my heart. Raspberry tarts, mailed with sparkly stickers and postmarked with kisses."
She nodded. "Okay. I think I can be brave… if you're still my person."
Seraphina held her tightly, her voice like velvet. "I'm always your person, little moonbeam. No matter where you are."
Eva let out a long, shuddering sigh, like the weight of the world had been shifted just a little. But it still lingered.
"And will you keep my blanket warm while I'm gone?"
"I'll sleep with it every night."
Eva pulled back, suspicious. "Even the weird corner that smells like crackers?"
Seraphina grinned. "Especially that part. It smells like you."
Their noses brushed, breath mingling, the space between them filled with all the things that didn't need saying.
"I still hate jets," Eva whispered.
Seraphina nodded, eyes warm with unshed tears. "Me too, moonbeam. But I love you more."
"I'm always your person, little moonbeam," Seraphina whispered, holding her close again. "No distance can undo that."
Eva squeezed tight, a breath of warmth returning to her chest.
And though the world was still too big, and jets were still too fast, and goodbyes still stung like scraped knees — she could live with it.
As long as she had Seraphina's voice in her pocket.
From the hallway, Mère — Aunt Vivienne silently recorded them on her phone — only a few seconds of Eva's breakdown, her grief swollen and childlike. She typed out a message to Evelyn and hit send:
She's unraveling. She's yours again, but only for now.
Downstairs, the chauffeur adjusted his sunglasses unnecessarily and scrolled his phone to avoid the sound of Eva's cries. The housekeeper paused mid - vacuum, reverent. Even the white roses in the marble vase seemed to bow in sympathy.
"Eva," Seraphina whispered, running a hand along her back, "we'll call every single day. We'll text before you brush your teeth. I'll send you a picture of the tulips when they bloom, and you'll send me one of your breakfasts even if it's just toast."
"I don't want toast," Eva sobbed into her neck. "I want you."
Seraphina kissed her hair. "And you already have me."
"But not if I leave."
"I'm still yours. Even then."
Eva pulled back just enough to look up, her cheeks blotchy and streaked with tears. "You promise?"
"I swear on every ribbon I've ever tied for you."
That made Eva blink. Then hiccup. Then nod solemnly.
Neither of them moved.
Seraphina simply shifted her legs and sat down cross - legged on the polished floor, right there in the foyer. Without hesitation, Eva melted into her lap, curling into her thigh like a ritual etched into her bones. The morning sun slanted through the tall windows, casting golden light over them like a benediction.
"I don't like this," Eva whispered. "It's the worst thing ever invented."
"I know, little moon," Seraphina murmured, stroking her spine. "It is."
"I won't like them. My parents. They're not you."
"They love you too."
Eva whispered,
"I wish Papa loved me too…"
(But she changed her words instead)
"They're not you."
Silence.
A kiss to the crown of Eva's head.
Vivienne cleared her throat gently from nearby, crouching beside them. "Darling," she said, "it's time. The jet is prepped. If you delay, you'll land after dark and dinner will be chaos. You know my older brother -'s your papa's pilot doesn't like flying past dusk."
Eva didn't move. "I don't want a jet. I want to stay."
But her voice had shifted — no longer pleading, but dulled and quiet. A child's acceptance of the inevitable, even if her spirit fought against it.
Seraphina helped her up with delicate care, brushing the rumples from Eva's designer dress. "Come on, moonbeam. Coat time."
Eva let herself be dressed like a doll — limp and noble in her grief. The coat was pale cashmere, buttery soft. Seraphina wrapped the lavender scarf around her neck, then smoothed the ends like she always did.
"I tucked one of your poems into your carry - on," Seraphina said. "The one about the sycamore tree."
Eva's eyebrows knit. "You liked that one?"
"I loved it," Seraphina said.
The sleek black car waiting outside looked far too polished. It reflected nothing of the grief inside.
Eva paused on the threshold. Her eyes darted from the hedged garden where they'd once played, to the windows above where bedtime stories echoed against plaster. Everything held pieces of her.
"I'll count the days," she said hoarsely, clinging to Seraphina's hand.
"And I'll count them with you," Seraphina replied.
They stood there, refusing to separate.
But the driver gently opened the door.
Eva climbed in like a funeral guest, dragging her little satchel behind her. Just before the door closed, she turned and flung herself forward, catching Seraphina's hand again.
One more kiss to her palm.
One more breath.
Then gone.
She didn't look back — until the estate gates rolled past the window. Then her cheek pressed to the glass, tears slipping silently down her face. Her hand remained against the window.
Seraphina didn't wave. She lifted her hand once, fingers spread, as if sealing a vow.
The luxury SUV pulled onto the tarmac behind the private hangar. Eva's family jet gleamed like a sleek bird in the morning light, the family crest etched on the tail in silver - gold. The flight crew waited in crisp uniforms, greeting her with polite nods.
Eva didn't respond. Her small hands clutched the lavender ribbon Seraphina had tied around her wrist just moments earlier. She didn't take it off—not during the flight, not even while sleeping beneath a silk blanket, alone in her cabin.
The sky stretched endless and pale above her. The jet cut through the clouds like time itself.
The first week in P•••• was unbearable.
Her mother took her to modern art galleries and cafés with rooftop gardens. Her Papa booked violin recitals and private chess tutors. A new shelf of untouched luxury books arrived. A wardrobe full of velour and lace and hand - stitched boots.
Eva didn't care.
She sat by the window, phone in hand.
Eva: Ina. I miss you. Everything smells wrong.
Seraphina: I miss you more, little moon. I wore your favorite perfume today.
Eva: Did you eat?
Seraphina: I did. A strawberry tart. What about you?
Eva: Bread and butter. I made them give me jam because you'd want jam.
Seraphina: Clever girl.
Video calls were better. Seraphina's voice — cool, elegant, endlessly soft — made the penthouse feel less empty. But the moment the screen went dark, the ache returned tenfold.
At night, Eva whispered her poems into the pillow, hands clutching the lavender ribbon still tied around her wrist.
Si longinquum sit iter,
Sit cor breve:
Quia absens non absum,
Tecum semper.
(If the journey is long,
Let the heart be short:
Though I am far, I am never gone.
I am always with you.)
Vivienne kept sending photos. The empty piano room. The tulips starting to open. A picture of Seraphina's back as she stood looking out the window, hands folded.
She's still waiting, the caption read.
One night, her Maman came into her room and found Eva sobbing under the covers.
"She's just a girl, chérie," Evelyn whispered, trying to loosen the ribbon from her wrist.
"She's Seraphina!" Eva screamed, recoiling. "You don't understand anything!"
The next morning, Reginald muttered over espresso, "She's weak. This is what too much affection does to a child."
Vivienne snapped something curt back, her voice steel.
That night, Seraphina sent a message:
Seraphina: I'll see you sooner than planned, little one.
Eva: You promise?
Seraphina: I never break promises.
Eva didn't sleep. She lay awake in her apartment in P••••, the silence pressing in, heart pounding beneath the weight of absence.
At dawn, her phone buzzed. A video call request.
She didn't hesitate.
The screen lit up. Seraphina — wrapped in a thick wool sweater, snow falling softly behind her in some quiet corner of N•••••.
Eva blinked, a sharp breath escaping. "You're really there."
Seraphina smiled, tired but radiant. "And you're still beautiful."
Eva's throat tightened. "I miss you."
"I counted every second," Seraphina said.
"I hated every one of them."
"So did I."
They stayed like that, staring at each other through the screen — eyes drinking in what arms couldn't hold.
"I just need to hear you say it," Eva whispered.
"You're not alone," Seraphina said gently. "You never were."
Later, Eva lay in bed, phone still clutched to her chest, Seraphina's voice replaying in her mind like a lullaby.
Distance, she realized, was just geography.
But love —
Love was the thread that stitched them together, no matter the miles.
Her world had righted itself.
Distance, she realized, was only a shadow.
But love — love was the light that banished it.