I see hope. – Liana
Liana
I almost forgot it was my birthday.
Not in the casual, oh-who-cares kind of way.
In the way where you wake up, stare at the ceiling, and everything feels exactly the same.
Like the days are just one long string of “after.”
No candles. No cake. No wishes.
Just silence.
Until Elias walked into the kitchen with Miso at his heel, carrying two mugs and saying, like it was nothing special, “Get dressed. I’m taking you somewhere.”
He didn’t tell me where we were going.
Just helped me into the car, gave Miso a treat and a kiss on the head, and drove.
I stared out the window most of the way, thinking about all the birthdays I spent pretending I didn’t care.
I didn’t ask him questions.
Not until the wooden fence appeared. Not until I smelled hay and sun and wind and horses.
I blinked. Sat straighter.
“…Elias?”
He pulled into the same gravel lot as last year.
Same trees. Same sky.
He turned to me, one hand still on the wheel. “You said it was the first place that felt safe.”
I didn’t say anything.
He didn’t need me to.
The owner remembered us.
He gave me a soft smile, handed me the reins, and said, “He missed you.”
The horse was the same one as before.
Gentle. Big-eyed. Calm.
Like nothing in the world could shake him.
I stood beside him for a long time, just running my fingers along his neck, breathing the scent of dust and summer.
“You don’t have to ride,” Elias said quietly. “You don’t have to do anything.”
I looked at him.
Then shook my head.
“I want to.”
We didn’t go fast.
I didn’t even really ride.
I just sat on the horse, let him walk slowly around the ring, while Elias walked beside us.
Hand resting lightly on my ankle the whole time.
We didn’t talk.
Just moved. Breathed.
Let the wind and the sun and the silence do what it needed to.
Let it carry the weight for a little while.
When I got down, I stood in front of Elias and just looked at him.
Same sky above us.
Same quiet field.
Same man who sheltered me without knowing he’d change my whole life.
“You brought me back here,” I said.
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because last time you were here,” he said gently, “you smiled.”
That’s when I started crying.
Not the loud kind.
Just quiet tears slipping down my cheeks like they belonged there.
He didn’t try to fix it. Didn’t say it was okay.
Just held me.
Like he knew some things couldn’t be fixed.
Only carried.
I didn’t make a wish that day. Didn’t blow out candles.
But I did whisper one thing into his chest as the wind swept around us:
“Thank you for not giving up on me.”
