Bridget Messian - Grey Gen Catch up
Tomarang, A Year Later - The end of Kade.
Bridget is 21. Wisteria is 2.
The ocean wind carried salt and heat, brushing against the porch where Bridget stood, arms folded tight across her chest. Below, Wisteria toddled along the shoreline, squealing with delight as the waves lapped at her ankles, her curls bouncing in the breeze.
Bridget didn’t smile. Couldn’t. Not with him standing next to her like that—quiet, restless, hands jammed in his pockets like they were holding him together.
Kade: (finally) “I need to tell you something.”
She didn’t turn to him. She didn’t have to. She already knew.
The tone. The silence. The guilt.
Bridget: “It’s Noah, isn’t it?”
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Kade went still. Then nodded.
Kade: “We’ve… been talking a lot. It just happened. I didn’t plan it.”
Bridget laughed—a small, broken sound that didn’t reach her eyes. “You said there was nothing between you.”
Kade: “There wasn’t. Not then. But now—”
Bridget: (cutting him off) “Now you’re leaving me for your best friend.”
Kade looked out at the sea, avoiding her eyes.
Kade: “It’s not like that.”
Bridget: “Isn’t it? You don’t even have the decency to lie better.”
The silence between them stretched, taut and painful. Wisteria shrieked with laughter as she splashed in a tide pool, completely unaware.
Bridget swallowed hard, her throat dry.
Bridget: “Did you ever love me?”
Kade didn’t answer right away. That was answer enough.
Kade: (quiet) “I think I wanted to.”
Her breath hitched like she’d been punched.
Bridget: “So what was I, then? Just somewhere to land while you figured it out? A placeholder until Noah looked your way?”
Kade flinched.
Kade: “It wasn’t like that.”
Bridget: “But it is like that, Kade. You just don’t have the balls to admit it.”
He took a step toward her. She stepped back.
Kade: “This doesn’t change anything with Wisteria.”
Bridget: (cold) “Of course it does. Everything changes. You want to be her dad? Show up. But don’t pretend you didn’t abandon me too.”
Her voice cracked then, just slightly. Enough.
Kade looked like he wanted to say more, but didn’t. He turned and walked down the sand, scooping Wisteria into his arms. She laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck like nothing was wrong.
Bridget watched them, arms wrapped around herself like armour.
From a distance, they looked like a family.
But she knew better now.
She wasn’t the one he’d fight for.
Wasn’t the one he’d ever choose.
And maybe she never had been.
She stood there until the sun dipped lower, her shadow stretching long across the porch, the waves pulling the footprints away like they’d never been there at all.
----
Late that Night
Tomarang was quiet. Too quiet.
The sea murmured in the distance, a soft hush that should’ve been comforting. But inside Bridget’s tiny home, the silence pressed in around her like a weight.
Wisteria was asleep—curled up in her little bed, thumb in her mouth, a small, rhythmic snore barely audible through the monitor.
Bridget sat alone on the bathroom floor. The bathwater had gone cold, her damp towel wrapped around her shoulders like a shield. Her knees were pulled to her chest, cheek resting on them, eyes red from crying—but the tears hadn’t stopped.
She wasn’t even sure why she’d started crying again.
Maybe it was Kade. Maybe it was her mum. Maybe it was Kevin.
Maybe it was everyone who had ever made her feel like she wasn’t enough to stay for.
Bridget: (soft, to herself) “What’s wrong with me?”
Her voice cracked in the quiet. No answer came. Just the slow drip of the tap. The ache in her chest throbbed like a bruise she couldn’t touch.
She thought back to all the moments that should’ve meant something. Kade holding her hand during Wisteria’s birth. Kevin offering a home. Her mum’s empty hugs. The nights she stayed up hoping someone, anyone, would message first.
But they didn’t. They never did.
And she was tired of always being the one who reached out. The one who fought. The one who stayed.
She leaned her head back against the wall, blinking up at the ceiling.
Bridget: “I gave everything. And still… they leave.”
Her voice was a whisper now. Barely there.
It wasn’t just about love. It was about being invisible. Disposable. Used up and tossed aside, like she was just a chapter in everyone else’s story.
She wiped her eyes, but it didn’t matter. More tears came anyway.
For the girl she used to be.
For the love she thought was real.
For the version of her life that never came true.
Eventually, she stood, the cold biting into her skin, and wrapped herself tighter in the towel. She padded barefoot to Wisteria’s room, slipping in without a sound.
Her daughter’s face was peaceful in sleep, lashes long against her cheeks, curls wild on the pillow.
Bridget knelt beside the bed and stroked a curl behind Wisteria’s ear.
Bridget: (quietly) “It’s just us, baby girl. Just us now.”
And maybe that would have to be enough.
Because at least she wasn’t leaving.