Christabel returned to Lenara.
Not as a builder.
As a resident.
She had decided to live in the city she built.
But the weight of everything was crushing her.
---
The move should have been a celebration.
Instead, it was a fight.
Not the passionate kind. The cold kind. The kind that came from exhaustion and resentment and the slow erosion of patience.
"You're never home," Damien said.
"I'm building a city."
"You're building a wall between us."
"I'm building our future."
"Our future is here. With Lena. With me."
She turned to face him.
"Our future is everywhere we are together its not fixed at one place. All that matter is that i have you and our daughter we have billions we can have time for each other and have the live we dream off"
---
The argument lasted an hour.
Then two.
Then three.
Lena cried in the nursery. The nanny tried to soothe her. Christabel and Damien stood in the living room, yelling at each other like strangers.
"You need to slow down," Damien said.
"I can't slow down."
"You need to sleep."
"I can't sleep."
"You need to let someone help you."
"I don't need help."
"You're burning out."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine."
---
She sat on the couch.
Put her face in her hands.
"I'm so tired."
"I know."
"I'm so tired of being strong."
"Then stop."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because if I stop, everything falls apart."
---
He sat beside her.
Took her hands.
"Nothing is going to fall apart. The cities will still be there. The homes will still be standing. The families will still be housed."
"You don't know that."
"I know that you're killing yourself."
"I'm not killing myself. I'm building something."
"At what cost?"
She looked at him.
"I don't know anymore."
---
That night, she didn't put Lena to bed.
Damien did.
She sat in the garden.
The rose was still blooming.
Her mother's rose.
"I don't know what I'm doing," she whispered.
The rose swayed.
"I don't know who I am anymore."
She touched the petals.
"I'm so tired."
---
Damien found her there an hour later.
"She's asleep," he said.
"Good."
"Are you okay?"
"No."
"What do you need?"
She looked at him.
"I need you to hold me."
---
He pulled her into his arms.
Held her tight.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"For what?"
"For yelling. For pushing. For not understanding."
"You were right."
"I was angry but realized ablve my fight and everything the love we share is supreme"
They stayed in the garden until the stars came out.
Then they went to bed.
Not to make love.
To sleep.
To hold each other.
"I'm going to see a therapist," Christabel said.
"A therapist?"
"Someone to talk to. Someone who isn't you. Someone who can help me figure out why I can't stop."
Damien was quiet for a moment.
"I think that's a good idea."
"You're not jealous?"
"I'm relieved."
---
The next morning, Christabel called Dr. Reid.
"I need to see you."
"Today?"
"As soon as possible."
---
The drive to the therapist's office was quiet.
The city was gray.
The rain was falling.
Dr. Reid was waiting.
"You look tired," she said.
"I am tired."
"More than tired?"
"I'm burning out."
---
Dr. Reid leaned forward.
"Tell me about it."
"I can't stop. Every time I finish one project, I start another. Every time I help one family, I find ten more who need help. Every time I build a home, I see a hundred more that need to be built."
"That's not sustainable."
"I know."
"Then why do you keep doing it?"
Christabel was quiet for a moment.
"Because if I stop, I'll have to feel."
"Feel what?"
"Everything. The exhaustion. The fear. The grief."
---
"Grief for what?"
"For my mother. For the childhood I didn't have. For the years I spent being angry."
Dr. Reid nodded.
"You've been running."
"Yes."
"From what?"
"From myself."
---
The session lasted an hour.
Christabel cried.
Dr. Reid listened.
When it was over, Christabel walked to the car.
Damien was waiting.
"How was it?"
"Hard."
"Did it help?"
"I don't know."
---
That afternoon, Christabel went to Lenara.
Not to build.
To walk.
To feel.
To remember why she started.
Eleanor was on her porch.
Rocking in her chair.
"You look tired," Eleanor said.
"I am tired."
"Sit."
Christabel sat.
---
They sat in silence.
The sun was warm.
The birds were singing.
"You're doing too much," Eleanor said.
"I know."
"You're going to break."
"I know."
"Then stop."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
Christabel was quiet for a moment.
"Because if I stop, I'll have to feel."
"Feel what?"
"Everything."
---
Eleanor took her hand.
"You're not alone."
"I know."
"You have your husband. Your daughter. Your family."
"I know."
"Then let them help you."
---
That night, Christabel put Lena to bed.
Not Damien. Her.
She read her daughter a story. Not a baby book. A real story. One of her favorites.
"There was a woman who was tired of being strong," she read. "So she let herself be weak. And she learned that weakness wasn't a failure. It was a beginning."
Lena stared at her.
"Bah," she said.
"That's right," Christabel said. "Bah."
---
Damien was in the doorway.
"She said it again."
"She said it to me."
"She said it to both of us."
She closed the book.
Set it on the nightstand.
"She's going to be honest."
"She's going to be just like you."
"God help the world."
"God help anyone who tries to make her pretend."
---
They stood over the crib together.
Lena was asleep. Her tiny chest rose and fell.
"I'm going to slow down," Christabel said.
"You are?"
"I'm going to let people help me."
"That's all I've ever wanted."
"I know."
"I love you."
"I know."
"I love you in ways I didn't know I was capable of."
She touched his face.
"I know. Because I love you the same way."