Chapter 1: Kelsey and Owen

With evident hesitance I slid the pen across glossy paper. I'd pushed down hard enough to leave a little scratch on his finished cherry conference table. Oops. I hope he doesn't notice. Oh God. Why do I feel like I'm signing my life away? I mean it's just a new place to live, right? It's just a new house. A new place to sleep, a new place to wake up. And a new closet. Damn it. It's basically a new life. It's a new life. Everything is changing. No, no, no. It's just a new house, stupid. Stop being dramatic, Stella. Everything is going to be okay. I can do this. All by myself. All alone, all--

"You don't have to do this, Phil. If you're not sure about the house we can keep looking." My Realtor’s interruption brought me back to reality, back to his too-sheek office with its terrible feng shui.

"Guy, I told you to call me Stella, not Phil. Get used to it. I've been Stella for years now." I clarified. "And I'm sure about the house, by the way. I mean, who wouldn't want to remodel an abandoned monastery? It's absolutely beautiful. I have a thing for stained glass. It's so classy. You found just what I was looking for. I've heard rumors that it's haunted, did you know? I'm sorry I spaced out earlier, by the way. I'm just trying to adjust to all of this. It's been quite... Well, I'll just say that it's been difficult."

"I know," Guy said kindly. "I think it will be good for you though. I really, really do. I've had so many clients who say getting out of their old house was just what they needed to move on with their lives. I’m happy you’re finally taking this step. I'm sorry about calling you Phil, by the way. You were Phil when I met you, and I guess I just haven't gotten used to it yet.”

“It's no big deal. You've been selling houses to me for years now, and will be for years to come, I'd say. You'll adjust. And you’re only happy because you’re closing on a property worth almost a million dollars. You love how much money I make for you,” I joked. I handed him the signed contract, and he handed me the key to my haunted monastery.

“Congratulations. It’s all yours,” Guy said, holding out his hand to shake mine.

“Thanks. I really appreciate all of your help. I’ll be in touch soon.” I stood up, shook his hand, and crossed the room to the door as quickly as I could without being rude. I probably was rude, though. I have a bad habit of that—being rude without meaning to. I couldn’t help it this time, though. I was fighting the urge to throw the key back at him and tear up the official-looking proof that my life was really over. I don’t want this new life. I don’t want a new house. Damn you, Alex. What happened? What did I do? How did we go from almost having a child together to… this? After seven years this is the state you leave me in? I don’t know how to recover from this. I don’t know who I am anymore. I don't feel like Stella without you. My thoughts kept racing as I stepped out into the chilly November air and headed for the parking garage. Before I knew it my Audi was directing me down a road that was all too familiar again. I’d driven here automatically almost every day this week. My brain hasn’t accepted the fact that Luna Avenue isn’t my home anymore. I drove past our house (No, his house. Not our house. His house, Stella.) trying not to look, but couldn’t help myself. The porch was barren, and there were cobwebs in the windows. Alex never was the tidy one in the relationship. He never cared too much about decorating, either. That was always my thing. He obviously isn't buying mums this year. He's such an idiot. They look beautiful on the porch next to a few little pumpkins.

Against my will I turned my head away from the house, from the place where my perfect little life had ended just a few months ago. I still remember every detail of the day we met, and the day it ended is, unfortunately, even clearer.

. . .

It was Christmastime. Christmas  used to be my favorite time of the year when I was growing up. It was the one time when my family could stand to be around each other long enough to sit in the same room and open presents.

I was spending my break from grad school back in my hometown just for the holiday. I wasn't exactly feeling the Christmas spirit yet, but, then again, I’d just had an argument with my mother about some stilettos she'd found in my room. She knew they were mine. I think maybe she was just jealous because she knew that I could rock them better than she could. She had tried to throw them out, but there was NO WAY I was letting her put my Jimmy Choo's in the trash. I plainly told her that one day she was going to have to accept that I should have been born a woman and that it might as well be now. I walked straight out the front door when she said, "You're my son, NOT my daughter!" I was, needless to say, heated from the argument, and thought a walk  in the bitter winter air might help cool my head a bit.

All around town I passed happy couples bundled up together, clinging closer than necessary to pronounce their intimacy to the rest of the world. Seeing them made me feel even angrier. I’d had dreams when I went away to college, dreams that amidst all the studying, working, and partying I’d find someone to cling to like that. All I ever really found was a gaping hole in my stomach before every due date or test, and a headache from one too many drinks one too many times. I'd managed to somehow pull a 3.8 GPA out of my ass, and I’d even managed to get accepted into a great graduate program. I knew one day I’d be successful in whatever project I took up, but I was still alone. I didn't want to be alone, I didn't want to be shunned by my family, and I didn't want to---

“Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way...”

The ring tone from my cell phone pulled me out of my thoughts. I always liked to change my ringtone with the holidays.

Great. It's my mother. "What, mom?" I answered as harshly as I could muster.

“Phillip,” she began, “Phillip, you had better come back to the house right this instant. I told you before you came home that we' weren't going to deal with your abnormalities at Christmas. Now get back to the house!” Her tone was severe and demanding. She wasn’t used to being disobeyed. I was the kind of kid that used to bend to her will, and hearing her talk to me in that tone of voice made me want to hide in the cupboard that I used to always seek refuge in as a child. I wasn't going to give in this time, though.

“I’m sick of being treated like a child, mother,” I replied. My breath curled around my face, floating up to the sky that was threatening us with sleet or snow. “I'm tired of not being accepted for who I am by my own family. I need some time to collect my thoughts, and I’ll come back when I’m good and ready.” With that, I closed my phone, and promptly headed to the local pub.

That was where I met Alex. The moment we locked eyes at the dimly light bar, I felt as if a part of my soul had fluttered to life. Some part of me had obviously been hibernating up until that very moment when it was finally freed. It beckoned me to approach the dark haired stranger across the room, and I couldn't have denied it even if I'd wanted to.

We didn’t even talk for the first hour and a half of our meeting. We just moved to the beat of whatever rhythm was played for us until we were too tired to remain standing any longer. When we, at last, took a seat to catch our breath, we looked at each other and knew that we would be together. Together forever, I hoped. But i know now that forever has a silly way of ending way sooner than expected.

A year and a half later I'd completed grad school, and found investors who were interested in my research theories. I had a good team of successful bio-engineers, and we made stunning, unbelievable progress. It soon became apparent that my team was capable of doing the bulk of the research themselves, and I was given a management job. That management job eventually led to me being the CEO of the company that had originally bought our idea. Crazy, right? I also had Alex, which seemed even better. It'd been just three years since we met and fell in love  at that pub. I felt like I had it all. A successful career, a loving boyfriend, a nice house in a city far, far away from the one I grew up in, and most importantly, I finally felt true to myself. I began going by the name Stella, and only my family and a few others referred to me as Phil.

Six years after that first Christmas, Alex proposed. We decided to stay engaged for a year, rather than to get married right away. We just to make sure neither of us had any premarital jitters before the actual ceremony. I thought it was a smart idea. We were totally in love, and our wedding was going to be perfect. Or so I thought.

Five months into our engagement, Alex began acting somewhat... distant. On more than one occasion he would quickly close web pages  when he heard me walking behind him, and would start taking phone calls out on the porch. I shook these incidents off as him just being quirky, but I guess I should've listened to my gut. I was stressed with work because there seemed to be complications with some of the research. We were so close to our goal, but some new development had the possibility to totally shatter everything we’d been working towards.

It wasn’t long after that everything collapsed.

One day Alex told me he needed to talk to me and I knew what was coming. He didn't need to say it, but he did anyway. In very plain terms he said, “We’ve got to break our engagement.” The statement was adamant, and his stature was solid and sure as he crushed my heart into millions of tiny fragments. We didn’t even have a proper discussion about it, honestly. He just said he wanted out, so I gave him what he wanted. Despite how badly I wanted him and the perfect life we were going to have, all that mattered in the end was his happiness. I couldn't stand the thought of him being unhappy with him. So I moved in with a friend for a short time while I looked for a new home, leaving most of my possessions with Alex. Most of them had been bought with him anyway, and I no longer wanted them. My shattered heart would be enough of a reminder that we weren't together, and collecting my possessions would mean I'd have physical reminders, too. He could just have most of it, especially that couch. I knew I had to start over, no matter how much I didn’t want to. The only problem was making my heart recognize the truth in what my brain was telling it.


. . .