Strings of Fate: The First Loop

CHAPTER 38

The three of us sat down, Dad at the head of the table, Claire across from me, the soup in the center steaming between us like a quiet centerpiece.

“So, B,” Claire began, stirring her rice. “How’s school treating you?”

“Busy,” I said, spooning broth into my bowl. “Prom’s coming up. And I got roped into organizing it.”

“Oh?” she raised a brow, curious. “With James?”

I hesitated. “No. With… Matt.”

There was a beat of silence. Not a sharp one, just… still. Dad didn’t react much, just kept chewing. Claire tilted her head slightly, like she was reading between my words.

“I’m guessing it wasn’t your idea,” she said kindly.

“It wasn’t,” I admitted. “Mrs. Pamela made the call. I didn’t even get a vote.”

Dad finally spoke. “Life’s full of assignments you didn’t ask for, kid. Doesn’t mean you can’t learn something from them.”

“Yeah…” I swirled my spoon in the bowl, watching tiny bubbles surface and pop. “It’s just weird, I guess. Seeing Matt again.”

Claire reached for the soup, her hand brushing mine for a second. “Sometimes we don’t need to have it figured out. We just have to take it as it is.”

That line sat with me.

Maybe that’s what I was doing right now. Showing up. In this kitchen, in this moment. In front of Claire, who wasn’t my mother, and yet sat across from me with eyes that felt like a safe place. In front of Dad, who had lines around his eyes that weren’t there last year, but laughed like someone trying.

I looked at both of them. Claire’s smile. Dad’s ease. The warmth of the food.

And I realized: this wasn’t a replacement for what I lost.
It was something else entirely.
Not louder, not bigger... just real.
And real could be enough.

“Thank you… for tonight,” I said softly.

Claire tilted her head. “You made dinner.”

“I know,” I smiled. “But you made it feel like home.”

Dad raised his spoon in a toast. “To home, then.”

And in that little kitchen, under flickering lights and next to two people who chose to stay... I raised mine too.

“To home.”

After dinner, I curled up on my bed, the scent of soup still clinging faintly to my hoodie. The night was quiet except for the humming of crickets outside and the soft buzzing of my charger cable slightly loose in the socket.

James’s face lit up my screen... framed in the harsh gym lights, his hair damp with sweat, strands sticking to his forehead. He looked tired, but he still smiled like I was the thing he’d waited all day to see.

“A week…” I murmured, my voice softer than I meant. “That’s such a long time, babe.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, Coach said it would be good for the team. We seniors have to guide the newbies. Bonding, leadership, all that. But I’ll be back for prom… I’ll be your prom king.” He grinned, but I could hear the apology sitting behind his words.

“I’d miss you,” I whispered, staring at his pixelated eyes.

“I’d miss you even more,” he said without missing a beat.

There was a pause.

I watched the tiny blue light blink from the corner of the screen and chewed on the inside of my cheek. “Anyways, I have something to ask you.”

His brows lifted. “What’s up?”

“This morning… Mrs. Pamela talked to me,” I began carefully, “She asked me to organize the prom.”

His smile widened. “That’s great, baby. You’d make it beautiful. Inez can help you plan it...”

“Actually,” I interrupted, my tone cautious, “That’s what I wanted to ask you about.”

His smile froze mid-frame.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“She didn’t assign Inez.” My fingers tapped lightly on the edge of my phone. “She assigned Matt.”

Silence.

It wasn’t sharp... it was quiet, like when someone holds their breath too long underwater.

“I mean…” I rushed in, “If you’re not cool with it, I’ll back down. Really. It’s not that important. I can say no...”

“No,” he said quickly, too quickly. “No, it’s… it’s cool. I trust you.”

But I heard it... the tremor behind his words. Not anger, not jealousy. Something else. A quiet flicker of doubt, maybe. A memory that hadn’t fully healed.

“Are you sure?” I asked, softer now.

There was a beat. Then another.

“Of course, baby,” he said finally. “Of course.”

I nodded, but I didn’t feel the comfort I was hoping to.

Because trust, once cracked, has a sound you never un-hear.
Even when it’s wrapped in love.
Even when it’s said twice.