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where it ends

ELLIE

T he late morning air carries that soft saltiness that clings to your skin and doesn’t quite let go. From the porch, I can just make out the girls down on the beach—two silhouettes flitting back and forth along the shoreline, bare feet kicking up sand, their laughter carried faintly on the breeze.

Mia’s in my “I Heart Coral Point” hoodie that Naomi demanded I buy yesterday, hair a mess, dragging some poor excuse for a kite along behind her.

Claire’s got the bucket and spade, like they’ve reverted to being six again instead of thirteen.

They're sun-drenched and free and utterly oblivious to the weight pressing behind my ribs.

Naomi hands me a mug of tea and collapses onto the seat beside me with a dramatic groan. She’s in her sunglasses, even though the sun’s barely peeking over the horizon.

“Remind me again,” she mutters, “that we are far too old to drink like that.”

I smirk, wrapping my fingers around the mug. “We are definitely too old to drink like that.”

“My liver knows. My dignity knows. But my brain?” She shakes her head. “That bitch still thinks we’re twenty-one and bulletproof.”

I huff out a soft laugh, the warmth from the tea slowly thawing the cold inside my chest. “You were a machine last night. Until you fell off that log dancing to ABBA.”

Naomi groans into her sleeve. “Ellie. Please . That wasn’t me. That was Patricia.”

I glance sideways at her, the laugh escaping before I can hold it in. “Patricia? Is she the one who?—”

“I swear to God, Eleanor, if you don’t stop talking…”

I can’t help it. I burst out laughing, the sound cracking through the quiet like sunlight between clouds. Naomi groans again, but she’s grinning now too, her cheeks flushed with the start of a hangover or maybe just the memory.

For a while, it’s easy. Just us, sitting barefoot on old porch chairs, the ocean glittering at the edge of the world.

The aftermath of the bonfire still clings to my skin—smoke and salt and the sweetness of toasted marshmallows.

And there’s a kind of clarity in the air, like the night burned something out of me.

Not joy, exactly. But something close.

Naomi lifts her sunglasses and rests them on her head. Her tone shifts—quieter now. “So.”

I don’t look at her. “So?”

She nudges my leg with hers. “Are we going to talk about why this turned into a girls’ trip instead of the weekend you planned with David?”

My stomach knots and I hesitate. “He cancelled last minute. Something urgent came up with work.”

She stares at me for a moment. “And the truth?”

I roll my eyes. “Naomi…”

“Come on, Ellie. I know when you’re spinning it pretty.”

I let out a hollow breath, because there’s no point trying to defend him to her. “He talked his way out of it.”

Her silence says everything.

“He said he wanted me to go, to enjoy it anyway. Said I deserved a break. But really?” I shake my head. “He couldn’t pull himself away from work for one night. One bloody night.”

Naomi exhales, slow. “Ellie…” Her voice is quieter now, but there’s an edge to it. “When are you going to wake up?”

I blink. “To what?”

“You planned a weekend away, and he couldn’t even be arsed to show up. And you’re still making excuses for him. Still carrying the weight of this relationship like it’s all on you.”

I press my fingers to my temples. “I’m not?—”

“You are,” she says, cutting in. “And I get it. I do. You’ve built a life together. There’s history, a million reasons to stay. But Ellie… you’re not happy. And I’m tired of watching you disappear inside yourself just to keep the peace.”

Her words land sharp. Too close to the truth.

I stare out at the horizon, where the sea swells gently beneath a hazy blue sky, and say nothing at all.

Finally, I mutter, “It’s not that simple, Nay.”

Naomi lets out a soft, incredulous laugh. “God, Ellie. You’re like a record on repeat.”

I bristle, but she doesn’t stop.

“It’s never that simple. That’s always the excuse. You keep talking about Kieran like he’s this safe place—like he’s air and you’ve been underwater for years. And still, you keep going home to the man who’s drowning you.”

I blink hard, throat tight. “That’s not fair. And you know it.”

Her expression softens, but only slightly. “Isn’t it?”

“We’re just friends,” I say, and even I hear how hollow it sounds.

“Do you really believe that?”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

She watches me carefully. “Because I don’t think you do. Not really. And I don’t think he does either.”

I look away.

She doesn’t push. Just keeps her voice low. “You planned this weekend away to try and salvage something that’s already breaking apart. And when he bailed, you acted like it was fine. Like a girls’ trip was the plan all along.”

My voice is thin. “Because I didn’t want to waste it.”

Naomi shakes her head. “You’re not wasting the trip , Ellie. You’re wasting yourself .”

That lands deeper than I want it to. I stare down at the mug in my hands, the rim smudged with gloss, and suddenly I feel hollow. Like all the scaffolding I’ve built around myself is shaking loose.

“I know, Naomi. I know , okay!”

The words burst out of me, raw and sharp, louder than I mean them to.

My chest heaves with the weight of them, my eyes burning.

“You think I don’t see it? That I haven’t been swallowing it down every fucking day?

I feel like I’m cracking open, Nay. Like if I stop moving, stop pretending for even one second, everything will fall apart. ”

Naomi doesn’t flinch. She just reaches over, her hand settling over mine with a quiet steadiness that makes my throat ache even more.

“I’m scared,” I whisper, voice barely there now. “I don’t know who I am without all of this. Without holding it together.”

“I know,” she murmurs. “God, Ellie. I know.”

I shake my head, hot tears spilling over. “I just want to feel like myself again. Like I did last night. Like I matter.”

Naomi’s voice is soft, but certain. “You do matter.”

I let out a shaky breath, pressing the heel of my hand to my eyes.

“I hate seeing you dim yourself like this,” Naomi adds gently. “Especially when I’ve seen you lit up . I love you, even when you’re a pain in the arse. And I’ll keep loving you, even when you don’t know how to love yourself.”

Before I can say anything, she’s on her feet and pulling me into a hug—tight and warm and unrelenting. Her arms wrap around me like armour, and something in me caves. I sink into it, burying my face into her shoulder, breathing in her familiar scent of jasmine and sugar.

“I’m serious, Ellie,” she murmurs into my hair. “You’ve got to promise me something.”

I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.

“Promise me you’ll start listening to your heart,” she says, voice fierce now, the kind of fierce that comes from love. “Not the guilt. Not what’s familiar or easy or looks good from the outside. Just… what you want . What you deserve .”

I nod again, tighter this time, the promise pressing hard against my ribs.

“And stop lying to yourself,” she adds, pulling back just enough to look me in the eyes. “You’re allowed to choose more. You’re allowed to want more.”

The silence that follows isn’t heavy anymore.

It’s honest.

Held between us like something sacred.

It’s been hours of winding roads and motorway hum, but I finally turn onto the drive—headlights painting lazy arcs across the porch before blinking out. The engine ticks and cools beneath the bonnet, and for a moment I just sit there, hands loose on the steering wheel, breathing in the hush.

Then I see David’s car. Parked up like it never left.

Weird. He wasn’t supposed to be home until tomorrow.

I glance into the rearview mirror. Mia’s still curled up, hoodie drawn tight around her like a cocoon, hair wrap slightly askew, bracelet-laden wrists resting against her tote bag.

The ache that builds in my chest is slow and deep. This weekend gave her something bright to hold on to. And maybe it gave me something too. A reminder that lightness is still possible, even after everything.

I reach back and brush my fingers lightly over her shoulder. “Come on, bug,” I whisper. “We’re home.”

Mia stirs, scrunching her face into a yawn, blinking blearily at the window.

“Straight to bed, yeah? And be quiet, David might be in bed.” I say.

“Okay.” She says through a yawn, grabbing her tote and hoodie in a tangle of limbs as she gets out of the car.

She pauses halfway up the path, then rushes back, wrapping her arms around me before I’ve even opened mine.

“Thanks for the best weekend ever, Mum,” she murmurs, her voice soft with sincerity.

My throat tightens immediately, tears stinging unexpectedly at the corners of my eyes. I squeeze her back, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

She trails up the path, dragging her overnight bag behind her, and I follow at a slower pace, my hand reaching for the keys in my jacket pocket.

I unlock the door and it swings open on familiar hinges, the hush of home wrapping around me. It’s dark inside. Quiet. The kind that makes you think maybe this weekend brought us something. A bit of space. A reset, even.

But then I hear it.

Low, steady, unmistakable—David’s playlist drifting down the stairs.

That curated mix of acoustic covers and polished indie beats he plays when he’s trying to unwind. Or distract. Or disappear.

I flick off my flip-flops in the hallway, shrugging out of my jacket.

My arms are sore from the drive. My body is heavy in that good, slow way.

I can still feel the warmth of the beach, the music in my bones, the buzz of laughter from a circle of people who made me forget that the rest of my life was still waiting for me.

By the time I lock up and reach the upstairs landing, Mia has already cracked open her bedroom door, spilling a warm sliver of lamplight into the hallway. I pause there, leaning against the frame, watching her for a second.