CHAPTER 81

MEMORIES OF HER..

Luke sat in his study, the fire burning low, casting shadows that danced across the walls. His glass of whiskey remained untouched, its amber glow catching the light, but he had long forgotten it. His mind had slipped again back to memories he thought he had buried deep.

Obetta’s face lingered, her voice still echoing in the corners of his heart. The words he had once spoken“It’s over, Obetta” still tasted like ash in his mouth. No matter how many times he told himself it was the right choice, the ache never completely left him.

The fire cracked softly, pulling him deeper into silence.

That was when a soft knock came at the door.

“Luke?” Abigail’s voice floated in, gentle but steady.

His chest tightened. For a moment, he didn’t answer. He wasn’t ready to face her not with the storm raging inside him. But Abigail didn’t wait. The door opened, and she stepped inside, her presence filling the room like sunlight breaking into a darkened cave.

She wore a silk robe, her hair cascading loosely around her shoulders, eyes reflecting both curiosity and worry. The flickering firelight painted her skin in golden warmth, but her expression was what caught him most.

She could read him she always could.

“Why are you here alone?” she asked softly, her gaze moving from the untouched glass to the stiffness in his posture. She walked closer, her bare feet making no sound against the rug.

Luke swallowed hard, fighting to school his features. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“That much I can see,” she murmured, stopping just in front of him. “But it’s more than that. You’ve been quiet all evening. Even when you looked at me at dinner, your eyes… they were somewhere else.”

Her words pierced through him. She was right.

Luke had spent years building walls, but Abigail had a way of slipping past them without even trying. With a single glance, she saw what others could not.

He let out a slow breath. “Old memories.

Abigail tilted her head, her eyes softening. “Memories of her?”

Luke’s jaw tightened. He didn’t answer, but silence was enough. Abigail nodded gently, her lips pressing together as if she understood more than he expected.

For a moment, he looked at her really looked. Her presence grounded him, pulling him away from the ghosts of the past. She wasn’t demanding or accusing. She wasn’t jealous. She was simply there, steady and calm, like an anchor holding him in place.

“You don’t have to fight them alone,” she whispered, reaching out to brush her fingers against his hand.

The touch jolted him not like fire, but like warmth seeping into a frozen place. He hadn’t realized how cold he had become until she touched him.

“I’m not good at this,” he confessed hoarsely. “Talking about it. Letting it out.”

“Then don’t,” she said softly. “Not if it hurts. Just… let me be here.”

Her words struck something deep.

Luke turned his hand, wrapping his fingers around hers. The gesture was small, but it felt monumental. For years, he had kept this part of himself hidden, refusing to let anyone near the cracks Obetta had left behind.

But Abigail didn’t pry. She didn’t demand explanations or proof of love. She simply stayed.

And in her silence, he found comfort.

Slowly, he set aside the glass he had never touched and stood. Abigail looked up at him, her eyes glimmering in the dim light, and for the first time that night, he felt the storm ease.

“You bring me back,” he murmured, his voice low, almost uncertain.

Her brows furrowed gently. “Back?”

“To the present. To myself.” His hand lifted, brushing against her cheek, his thumb tracing the softness of her skin. “When I start to drown in what was, you pull me here. You don’t even know you’re doing it.”

Abigail’s lips parted, her breath catching. “Maybe it’s because you’ve given me the right to.”

Her words sank into him. The right.

It was something he hadn’t given anyone in years. Not his mother, not friends, not even himself. And yet Abigail stood here, holding pieces of him he thought he had lost.

Luke leaned closer, resting his forehead against hers. For a moment, they stood in silence, breathing each other in, the air heavy with unspoken truths.

“You make me forget her,” he admitted quietly. “Not because you try, but because you remind me what love is supposed to feel like.”

Abigail’s eyes softened further, shimmering with emotion. “Then don’t fight it, Luke. Don’t hold back. Let yourself feel again.”

The simplicity of her words shattered something inside him. The walls he had built so carefully over the years cracked, not with force, but with gentle persistence.

And he let them fall at least for tonight.

Without another word, he kissed her.

It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t desperate. It was steady, deliberate, filled with all the weight of the emotions he had kept locked away. His lips lingered against hers, tasting the sweetness of her presence, grounding himself in the certainty that this..she..was real.

Abigail melted into him, her arms sliding around his neck, pulling him closer. The robe she wore brushed against his skin, soft and warm, but it was her heartbeat that captured him most. Fast, steady, alive.

Every touch, every breath with her reminded him that he wasn’t trapped in the past anymore. He had something different, something true.

When they finally pulled apart, her forehead still rested against his, her lips curved in the faintest smile.

“You’re here now,” she whispered. “With me.”

“Yes,” Luke murmured, his hand tightening at her waist. “With you.”

They didn’t rush upstairs. They didn’t need to.

Instead, Luke pulled her down onto the couch beside the fire, wrapping her in his arms as though she were the only thing keeping him whole. Abigail nestled against him, her head resting on his chest, listening to the steady thud of his heart.

For a long time, they didn’t speak. The silence wasn’t empty it was full, alive, carrying the weight of everything they didn’t need to put into words.

Luke stroked her hair slowly, each movement calming him, tethering him. “Do you know,” he said finally, “that you’ve become my peace?”

Abigail looked up at him, her lips curving softly. “And you’ve become my home.”

Those words filled him more than any promise ever had. For the first time in years, he didn’t feel the urge to hold back, to guard himself. He let himself sink into her presence, into the truth of what they shared.

The fire crackled, the night stretched on, and in her arms, Luke realized something he hadn’t dared to believe for years:

He wasn’t broken anymore.

By the time dawn crept across the horizon, painting the room in shades of gold, Luke was still holding her. He hadn’t slept, but he didn’t care. For the first time in years, he didn’t feel the weight of ghosts pressing on his chest.

Obetta belonged to the past.

Abigail was his present.

And for the first time, he wanted to believe in the future.