Novels by EstherJames62327

The bridal boutique smelled like vanilla and fresh lilies—like someone had tried to bottle romance and spray it over every rack of tulle and satin. Monet stood in front of the gilded mirror, a vision in an ivory strapless crepe satin sheath wedding dress, its cathedral-length flare whispering against the marble floor, Swarovski crystals catching every drop of light. She looked divine. Radiant. And so utterly unlike herself that it startled her. "You look like a Disney princess," Meredith said from her spot on the cream velvet sofa, swinging her legs that didn't quite reach the ground. Her big blue eyes sparkled with wonder. Monet smiled, smoothing a hand over the beaded bodice. "We both look like princesses, Mer. You in your flower girl dress? You're stealing the show." Meredith giggled, pleased. Kyle had agreed to an intimate wedding. Small, elegant. Friends and family only. Mother Margaret was flying in, along with a few nurses and teachers Mo

Monet Palmer had never missed Sunday Mass in her entire life—even after moving in with the Abbotts, she went with the children in towx. On rare Sundays, Richard would join them, quietly, solemnly, always sitting at the far end of the pew like someone visiting a museum, not a sanctuary. It had been ten years since she walked away from postulancy to pursue a life she wasn’t sure belo.gnged to her. Twenty-nine since she was abandoned—wrapped in a crocheted blanket and a note that only said "God knows her name"—on the stoop of Sisters of Saint Josephine Convent. Now, standing on that same stone stoop, the years folded in on themselves like parchment. She stared at the tall oak doors that had once been her entire world. A thousand memories fought for space in her chest—her first prayer, the sound of Sister Miriam's laughter echoing through the halls, the warmth of Mother Margaret's shawl wrapped around her shoulders during winter Mass. But beneath those memories chur

Monet sat across from Kyle at their favorite restaurant, the soft glow of candlelight flickering between them. She tried to focus on the conversation — the way his warm brown eyes crinkled when he smiled, the way his voice made her feel safe like she didn’t have to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. But tonight felt different. There was a tension in the air she couldn’t shake, no matter how many times she adjusted in her seat or took a sip of wine. Kyle had always been her steady constant — the man who never asked too much, who treated her with unwavering kindness. He respected her boundaries, encouraged her career, and never rushed her. But tonight, there was urgency in his voice. An edge she wasn’t used to. “I’ve been offered a job in another city,” Kyle said, leaning slightly forward. His voice was calm, but something restless simmered beneath the surface. “It’s a great opportunity. The kind of thing that could take my career to the next

Monet had spent her entire teenage to early adulthood yearning for just one thing—to be a mother. The mother she didn't have. For the past three years, she'd been a substitute. Been a mother in every sense but in name. She was a nanny. And not for once in these three years had she let herself ponder on the maternity of the children. Hannah was their mother. So why did it feel like she was deserting her children? She closed the washer, looking at her wristwatch and seeing she still had time to prepare a quick snack for the kids before they dropped home. A late afternoon sunlight pored through the open drapes, casting a soft honey glow over the polished floor; Monet walked barefeet as she did, relieving every memory she'd gotten in every room on the ground floor. She stopped by the den, It had been scrubbed clean by the day cleaner, who came to clean four times a week. It would take approximately 10 minutes for it to go back to

The shrill telephone ring from somewhere on his office floor aroused him from his musings. There was a pile of documents that needed his attention on his desk, a blueprint he had to overlook in his system, but for the first time in three years since Hannah's death, he had no urge to work. Work had been his escape after her death, the minute he figured out Monet knew exactly what she was doing with the kids, he'd plunged himself into his company. Dealing with his grief by taking his company to one of the most sought-after architectural firms to look out for in such a competitive market. Three days since she announced her engagement to Kyle, his house had become an echo of warmth. Hell! It felt just as raw as Hannah's passing. The kids were moving in silence; even Carter—who undoubtedly didn't grasp the entire situation had taken to sulking. Everything irritates him. Sweet Meredith no longer hangs around the kitchen with Monet anymore. She doesn't ev

Sunlight spilled gently through the lace curtains of the Abbott estate’s breakfast nook, catching in golden pools on the polished wooden floor. The kitchen hummed with the clinks of pots and pans and the distant melody of a morning cartoon playing in the den. Monet stood by the stove, barefoot, stirring scrambled eggs with one hand while the other rested lightly on her hip. She moved with practiced ease as if the rhythm of this morning — every toast flip, every juice pour — was stitched into her muscle memory. Because it was. “Monet,” came the familiar soft voice. Monet turned. Meredith stood at the kitchen entrance, her oversized pajama shirt slipping off one shoulder, braids slightly fuzzy from sleep. The eight-year-old clutched her teddy against her chest. "Can I sit on the counter today? Just for a little bit?" Monet arched a brow but smiled. "Only if you promise not to swing your legs. I don’t want you kicking the juice again." Mere