I leaned forward slightly, lowering my voice even more.
“He’s a man who built his life around control and ambition,” I said. “And when I left before he could decide what to do with me, it probably bruised his ego.”
Giselle’s brows lifted.
“You think this is about pride?”
“I think he’s exactly the kind of man who can’t stand unfinished business.” The anger settled into something colder now. “He came here because I slipped out of his hands once.”
“And you’re certain that’s the only reason?”
“Yes, I’m not letting history repeat itself,” I added firmly. “Whatever he thinks he came here to finish… it’s not happening.”
Giselle sighed, clearly unconvinced but unwilling to push the argument further.
“Well,” she said after a moment, “whether you like it or not, he’s not exactly a distant memory anymore.”
That much was true. The new dean’s office sat only two corridors away. His name was already appearing in administrative emails. His presence had entered the structure of the life I had built here. And no matter how firmly I tried to close the door on the past, the uncomfortable truth remained.
Hayden Stone was no longer a memory. He was now part of my present.
After my conversation with Giselle, I returned to the lecture hall for my second class of the day, though it took far more effort than usual to gather my thoughts into anything resembling academic clarity. The familiar structure of teaching usually steadied me, but this time the inner conviction I depended on refused to settle into place. My mind kept drifting back toward the administrative wing of the building, toward the office where Hayden now sat with the authority of a man who had once been only a complicated memory.
I told myself repeatedly that the university was large for avoidance. Still, every time footsteps echoed in the hallway outside the classroom, a small, unwelcome tension tightened in my chest. I found myself glancing toward the door more often than necessary, half expecting to see him appear there with the same unsettling calm he carried earlier that afternoon.
He did not.
By the time the lecture ended, the day had begun slipping toward evening and the early winter light outside the tall windows had softened into a pale gray glow. Students gathered their notebooks and filed out in small groups, their conversations gradually fading down the corridor.
I waited a moment after the room emptied before collecting my notes and tablet, letting stillness return to the space before stepping back into the hallway. Leaving the university felt like stepping out of a storm I had been holding inside my chest all day.
Helena.
Thinking about her always had that effect. Her kindergarten stood on the same street as a small bakery that filled the air withwarm sweetness every afternoon. By the time I reached the gate, several parents were already waiting outside while children’s voices drifted through the open windows of the classroom.
The moment Helena spotted me through the glass door, she ran forward with the same unstoppable energy she carried everywhere.
“Mommy!”
I knelt just in time to catch her as she wrapped her arms around my neck.
“How was your day?” I asked, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.
“I painted a dragon,” she announced. “And I was the fastest runner.”
“The fastest? I’m impressed.”
“And tomorrow is the weekend,” she said, already smiling as if the word itself was a celebration.
“Yes, it is.”
Her eyes brightened instantly.
“Does that mean pancakes?”
“It might,” I said.
“And the video call?”