Chapter Three

The morning headlines appeared before Grace finished her tea.

‎She sat at the long dining table, the cup warm between her palms. The house was quiet except for the low hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of traffic outside the gates.

‎Nathaniel stood near the kitchen counter, scrolling through his phone. His posture was relaxed, but Grace noticed the small change in his expression. His jaw tightened, just slightly.

‎He turned the screen toward her without speaking.

‎“Blackwood’s Sudden Marriage Raises Questions.”

‎“Who Is the New Mrs. Blackwood?”

‎“A Strategic Union or True Love?”

‎Grace glanced at the screen briefly and then looked away. She returned her attention to her tea, as if the words held no weight.

‎She had expected this.

‎Attention was part of the arrangement. Public curiosity always followed men like Nathaniel Blackwood. She had agreed to stand beside him knowing this would come.

‎Nathaniel watched her closely.

‎“You don’t seem bothered,” he said.

‎Grace took another sip. “There’s nothing I can control,” she replied calmly. “So I don’t worry.”

‎He studied her for a moment longer. “That’s rare.”

‎She did not answer.

‎Silence settled between them again.

‎After breakfast, Grace returned the cup to the counter and picked up her coat.

‎“I’ll be out for a while,” she said.

‎Nathaniel looked up. “Do you need a driver?”

‎“No.”

‎“A guard?”

‎“No.”

‎He hesitated, then nodded. “Be careful.”

‎Grace paused for half a second. “I always am.”

‎She left the mansion alone.

‎Outside, the city moved at its usual pace. Cars passed. People hurried along sidewalks. No one looked twice at her. She dressed simply on purpose. Neutral colors. Nothing memorable.

‎She blended into the crowd easily.

‎That anonymity was something she had learned to value.

‎Grace walked several blocks before stopping in front of a modest building tucked between two small shops. The paint on the walls was faded. The sign above the door read Hope Legal Aid Center.

‎She stood there longer than necessary.

‎Her reflection stared back at her through the glass door. For a moment, she saw not Grace Morgan, but the woman she had been before everything fell apart.

‎Hannah Cole.

‎She pushed the door open.

‎The smell of old paper, coffee, and dust greeted her. The waiting area was small, with worn chairs and a bulletin board filled with outdated notices. A young receptionist looked up and smiled politely.

‎“How can I help you?” the woman asked.

‎“I’d like to request a case file,” Grace said. “From five years ago.”

‎The receptionist turned to her computer. “Name?”

‎Grace hesitated.

‎“Hannah Cole.”

‎The receptionist’s fingers paused above the keyboard. She frowned slightly. “That case was sealed.”

‎“I know,” Grace replied calmly. “I’m authorized.”

‎She placed a document on the counter. Her hand did not shake.

‎The receptionist studied it carefully, then nodded. “Please wait.”

‎Grace sat down in one of the chairs. Her posture remained composed, but her heart beat faster than she wanted to admit.

‎She had lived with the memories long enough.

‎But seeing them again was different.

‎Minutes passed slowly. Each second stretched.

‎Finally, the receptionist returned and placed a thin folder in front of her.

‎Grace opened it carefully.

‎Inside were copies of reports she remembered too well. Financial statements filled with numbers that had once seemed meaningless. Witness testimonies printed neatly, each line carrying consequences no one had questioned.

‎And there it was.

‎The signature at the bottom of the approval page.

‎Nathaniel Blackwood.

‎Her fingers paused.

‎She closed the folder gently.

‎The truth had always been there.

‎Buried. Ignored. Conveniently forgotten.

‎Grace returned the file without a word and left the building.

‎The sunlight outside felt harsher than before.

‎She walked without direction for a while, letting the noise of the city ground her. People laughed nearby. A street vendor called out to customers. Life continued, indifferent to what had been taken from her years ago.

‎That evening, Nathaniel returned home later than usual.

‎Grace was in the living room, reading. The book rested open on her lap, but she had not turned the page in several minutes.

‎“You went out today,” Nathaniel said.

‎“Yes.”

‎“Where?”

‎She looked up. “For a walk.”

‎He accepted the answer, but something about her calm tone unsettled him. She did not volunteer details. She never did.

‎Nathaniel loosened his tie. “Tomorrow, we’ll attend a charity event. It’s important.”

‎“I’ll be there,” Grace replied.

‎Again, no questions. No hesitation.

‎That night, Grace dreamed.

‎She stood in a courtroom again. The walls were tall and cold. The judge spoke, but the words were distant and unclear.

‎Nathaniel was there.

‎He stood at the front, younger, wearing the same distant expression. She tried to speak, to explain, to correct the lies, but no sound came out.

‎Her mouth moved, but the room remained silent.

‎She woke before dawn.

‎Grace sat up slowly, her heart racing. The dream lingered longer than usual.

‎She went to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. Her reflection appeared faintly in the glass.

‎She studied it.

‎She looked different now. Stronger. Quieter.

‎She no longer needed someone to save her.

‎Across the house, Nathaniel lay awake.

‎Sleep refused to come.

‎He stared at the ceiling, replaying small moments from the day. Grace’s lack of reaction to the headlines. Her measured responses. The way she never asked for reassurance.

‎He couldn’t explain why her presence felt heavier than silence.

‎Or why her name lingered in his mind longer than it should have.

‎Grace returned to her room and locked the door.

‎She placed the folder carefully inside her bag.

‎The pieces were coming together.

‎And soon, the past would no longer stay buried.