I never planned to stay in Valencia. I was only supposed to pass through, sell the last of my father’s old wine barrels, and head back north before winter. But then I saw him—bare-chested, bloodied, defiant in the pit of that crumbling arena.

His name was Caelis. And the way he looked up at the crowd, like he dared them to look away, like he owned their breath—it undid something in me.

I started going every week. Always in the same cloak, always in the same seat. I thought he’d never notice me. But he did.

The first time we spoke, it wasn’t romantic. It was desperate.

“Don’t return,” he whispered through the iron bars. “I won’t last another fight.”

But I did return. And after that day, I never stopped. Not even when I found out how his fights were fixed. Not even when I learned his next opponent wasn’t just another man—but the governor’s prized beast, trained to rip bone from skin.

So I did what I thought I’d never do.

I went to my uncle Magnus, the merchant. The one who’d begged me to stay after my father died. The one who’d raised my sister when I couldn’t. The one who still held the deed to our vineyard and the titles to our name.

And I offered him everything. My share. My claim. Even them—my mother and sister—under the guise of “servitude to repay our family’s debt.”

I told myself it was temporary. That once Caelis was free, I’d make it right. I’d buy them back. Somehow.

He survived the fight. But not before his face was nearly torn open. I remember holding him afterward, the heat of his blood on my palms, his breath shaking like something close to breaking.

He doesn’t know what I did.

Not yet.

He was different after that fight. Quieter. He still reached for my hand when no one was looking, but the fire that burned in him before had dimmed. His body healed, but something inside didn’t.

I stayed by his side through it all. I even got him moved to a smaller stable outside the city—less guards, less eyes. I paid off an old debt of his with the last of what I had left. And still, he never asked where it was coming from.

Some nights, I imagined telling him the truth. That my mother was now washing dishes in my uncle’s estate and that my sister, Lira, only thirteen, was stuck mending rugs and stitching trade bags for hours on end.

But I never found the courage. I thought if I could just fix it before he found out, maybe the lie would disappear.

Then one morning, everything changed.

Caelis was gone.

The guard said he’d been bought. Not freed—bought. Some traveling noble from Aragonia paid a ridiculous price and left in the dead of night with Caelis in chains. No notice. No time for goodbye.

I searched for weeks. Burned through every coin I had. I even went to the governor himself, begging for any records of the sale. He laughed in my face. Said if I wanted a gladiator so badly, I could always bid at the next blood auction.

I went back to my uncle’s estate after that. Not to ask for help, but because I’d run out of choices. I hadn’t seen my mother or sister in months. I told myself I’d free them that day, no matter what it cost.

I expected hatred in my mother’s eyes. I expected my sister to spit at me.

Instead, my mother just looked tired. Her hands were raw, and she moved slowly, but her voice was calm.

“We heard what you did,” she said. “We knew you weren’t coming back for us.”

Lira wouldn’t even meet my gaze. She walked past me like I was no one.

That was the first time I cried in front of them. Not because of guilt—though I had plenty—but because I knew then that even if I could repay the debt, I might never get their love back.

Magnus watched me from the top of the stairs. He didn’t say anything until I begged.

“I’ll work for you. You can have my name, my life. Just let them go.”

He shook his head slowly.

“You gave them up too easily, niece. Why should I believe you care now?”

I left with nothing. Again.

Months passed. I started over in a smaller town near the coast. I worked in a fishing inn, cleaned boots, scrubbed boats, whatever people would pay for. I stopped asking about Caelis. I stopped dreaming about what I’d fix.

And then, one spring evening, he walked into the inn.

His hair was shorter. His face scarred. But it was him.

He saw me instantly. I didn’t even have time to wipe the shock off my face before he crossed the room and pulled me into his arms.

He was free.

Apparently, the noble who bought him had died on the road weeks after the sale. Some bandit attack. With no one to claim ownership, Caelis had walked away in the chaos.

He’d been looking for me since.

I didn’t know what to say. Part of me wanted to tell him everything. Another part wanted to hold onto that one moment of reunion before everything came crashing down.

But I didn’t need to say anything.

He already knew.

“I found Lira,” he said quietly. “Two weeks ago. I didn’t recognize her at first. She has your eyes.”

My stomach dropped.

“She didn’t tell me much,” he added. “Only that she hates the name Caelis.”

I sat down on the nearest bench, trying to breathe.

He sat next to me.

“I loved you,” he said. “Maybe I still do. But I don’t think I can forgive what you did.”

I nodded. I didn’t ask him to.

But then he reached into his bag and pulled out a pouch of coins. Heavy, full. More than anything I’d seen in over a year.

“I’ve been fighting still. Not for sport—for money. I want to give this to your family. Not because of you. But because they deserve it.”

I didn’t know what to say.

He placed the pouch in my lap and stood.

“I think you have one chance left. Don’t waste it.”

That night, I packed everything I owned into a single bag and made the long journey back to Magnus’ estate.

This time, I didn’t beg. I paid.

I bought my family back.

Magnus didn’t make it easy. He mocked me the entire time, saying I was a fool twice over. But money talks. And I had enough to make it so he never looked at us again.

Lira didn’t forgive me right away. Honestly, she didn’t say a word to me for a full month. But I let her have that silence. I didn’t try to fix it with gifts or apologies. I just stayed.

I helped my mother reopen the vineyard. It was in ruins by then—overgrown, forgotten—but we brought it back together, one vine at a time.

Caelis never came back to the coast. Last I heard, he moved east to a quiet town and took up working with horses. People say he smiles more now.

Sometimes I think about writing to him. Just to say thank you. Not for the money—but for showing me the cost of love when it’s built on lies.

It took me too long to understand that love doesn’t mean sacrificing others for your own heart.

Sometimes love means letting go. Sometimes it means owning up. And sometimes—if you’re lucky—it means rebuilding what you broke, even if forgiveness takes years to follow.

We don’t always get second chances. But when we do, they never come dressed as miracles. They come dressed as hard work, long days, and quietly doing what’s right—even when no one’s watching.