Chapter 13: The Final Goodbye

Mrs. Doyle brought the scissors without a second thought. "What are we cutting, ma'am? Let me do it, these are sharp, you might nick yourself."

Nora held out her hand, firm. "I've got it."

Still uneasy, Mrs. Doyle handed them over but didn't move from her side.

She's pregnant now. If anything happened to her on my watch, I'd never forgive myself.

Nora took the shears in one hand, the dress in the other, and in one clean motion tore a long slit straight down the fabric.

Mrs. Doyle gasped. "Ma'am! What are you doing? That's a beautiful dress, why would you cut it up?"

Genuine distress mixed with confusion crossed her face.

Nora set the scissors down on the ruined silk and turned toward her. "This fabric was flimsy. It tore on its own."

"I.. I'm not sure I follow, ma'am," Mrs. Doyle stammered.

Nora rose, changed into a loose cotton dress, and walked over, stopping directly in front of her.

"Mrs. Doyle. This dress was flimsy. It tore on its own. If Mr. Pierce asks, that's exactly what happened."

Something about the calm in Nora's voice sent an unexpected chill down Mrs. Doyle's spine.

She swallowed hard. "I'm just the help, ma'am. I won't say a word out of turn."

Nora nodded and went back to her room.

---

That evening, Grant arrived on schedule.

He took one look at her denim skirt and simple collared shirt, and his brow creased instantly. "Why aren't you wearing what I had made for you?"

Mrs. Doyle, seeing her out the door, spoke up quickly. "The dress wasn't sturdy, sir. It tore on its own."

Grant raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Tore itself?"

Mrs. Doyle dropped her gaze, unwilling to meet his eyes. Nora cut in smoothly. "The fabric was weak. It gave out the moment I pulled it on."

Grant wasn't convinced no fabric fell apart that easily, not unless it was paper-thin to begin with.

He thought back. Two nights ago, at the Ashford dinner, she'd worn jeans and a plain shirt too. Everything that happened after Vivian, the stairs, the chaos had pushed it out of his mind at the time.

Now that he thought about it, though, it had been pants and simple shirts for days running. Not a single one of the dresses he'd picked out for her.

He stepped closer, wrapping an arm around her waist, voice low. "Nora. You look better in a proper dress."

Do I? Or does Vivian look better in it?

Ever since their wedding, Grant had personally overseen her entire wardrobe restocking it regularly, always with the same dress in mind, elegant and silk, some pieces custom-tailored.

She'd never questioned it. She'd assumed it was simply his taste, and she'd wanted to please him, even when the fit never felt quite like her.

Only now did she understand: it was never about his taste at all. It was about the woman who actually loved wearing those dresses.

It's one thing not to love me. It's another thing entirely to dress me up as a stand-in for someone else and call it devotion.

Something in her chest ached, sharp and sudden.

Three years of obsession. Three years of lies. Three years of everything I gave up for this.

After tonight, all of it ends.

"Is that right?" she said. "Well, I like myself better this way."

She opened the car door and climbed in without waiting for a response.

Grant's temper flared.

Why has she gotten so difficult to manage lately? It's like I can't read her at all anymore.

Is there actually someone else?

His mind snapped back to the coat he'd found that morning. He made a mental note to have Derek find out exactly whose it was.

He got in beside her, reaching for her hand out of habit, lacing their fingers together. When she didn't pull away, he leaned in. "I didn't mean the other clothes look bad on you. I just don't think they suit you."

Is this what manipulation sounds like when it's practiced?

Her fingers went cold in his grip. Some small, curious part of her genuinely wanted to see how far he could take this, how easily the pretty words kept coming, exactly like everyone always said they would.

Who is this man I spent three years loving, really?

A thought surfaced, unbidden and nauseating: every time she'd stood in front of him in one of those dresses, had he been picturing Vivian's face instead of hers?

Was it like that in bed too?

Her stomach lurched violently, and before she could stop it, she was sick all over him.

Grant's expression twisted, and for one unguarded second his real reaction slipped through. "Nora, what the"

He caught himself mid-sentence, softening fast. "It's probably just morning sickness. It'll pass. You've been through a lot lately, honey."

Nora listened to him scrambling for something to wipe it up with and felt something cold and satisfied settle in her chest.

There's no baby left to make me sick, Grant. That part of me is already gone.

If you knew the truth right now, I wonder what your face would actually do.

Her stomach was still unsettled, so she said nothing further.

---

They were almost there when his phone rang. He glanced at the screen, then at Nora, before answering. "What's wrong?"

Vivian's voice came through, thin with panic. "Grant Master Voss is flying back to Aldermere tonight. He agreed to see me before his flight. Can you come?"

Grant frowned. "He only just landed today. He's leaving again tonight?"

"I don't know the details, but he reached out to me himself, Grant, that has to mean he's considering taking me on. I can't let this slip away."

He glanced at Nora, the words caught somewhere in his throat.

Then Vivian's voice turned soft, wounded. "Am I asking too much? I know I am. It's Nora's birthday tonight. It was selfish of me to even call. Maybe this is just how it's meant to go. My painting was never going to go anywhere anyway. Stay with Nora tonight. Tell her happy birthday from me. I won't bother you again."

Grant's stomach dropped.

I promised her this apprenticeship. I can't go back on that now.

What's wrong with me hesitating like this?

Vivian was the love of his life. The one person he'd sworn to protect no matter what it cost him.

And I actually hesitated. Over a birthday.

Birthdays come around every year. A chance like this with Master Voss might never come again.

He made up his mind. "I'll come get you. Wait for my call."

Relief flooded Vivian's voice. "I knew you wouldn't let me down."

The second he hung up, all his hesitation vanished. "Nora, something urgent's come up, I need to go. Go ahead without me, I'll catch up as soon as I can."

Nora already knew who'd called. She already knew exactly where he was going.

Even his choice was exactly what I predicted it would be.

Between me and Vivian, it was always going to be Vivian. Every single time.

She kept her eyes fixed on the window, voice perfectly flat. "Understood. Should I get out here?"

There were still five minutes left in the drive, but Grant, worried about keeping Vivian waiting, agreed without much thought. "You're so understanding, you know that? It's not far. You can flag down a car easily enough from here."

Not far. Like that matters when I can't see a single street sign around me.

Has he actually forgotten I'm blind? Or does it just stop mattering to him whenever she calls?

Logic told her not to feel it. Her body disagreed entirely.

Pain rolled through her, deep and old, settling into her bones like something permanent.

The car pulled away the moment she stepped out, cutting through the cold air, leaving her standing alone on the curb.

Wind caught her hair, and she shivered, eyes fixed on the direction his car had gone until the sound of the engine faded completely.

Goodbye, Grant Pierce.

Then, from somewhere behind her, a familiar voice cut through the wind.

"Nora Ashford.”