Chapter 12

The scent of rain and wet earth clung to the air, a familiar comfort after the storm. I stood by the window in what had been Grandpa Richard's study, now a silent monument to his absence. My fingers traced the intricate carving on his old wooden desk, a small detail I'd never noticed before. The house was quieter than ever. The staff moved with a hushed reverence. Damian was somewhere on the grounds, I assumed. He'd been distant, and I hadn't pushed him for company.

The letter was still in my pocket, the paper soft and worn from my touch. His words were a map out of the dark. I needed to let go of what I couldn’t fix. I needed to embrace what I could still heal. The finality of his death had a strange effect on me. It didn’t break me as I thought it would. Instead, it carved out a space for something new. I wasn’t a wife anymore. I wasn't just a daughter. I was a woman.

A gentle knock on the door broke my trance. It was Declan. He wore a dark blue suit, his posture calm and assured. He didn't come in immediately, waiting for my silent permission.

“Your father called. He wants to know if you'll be joining them for the quarterly meeting tomorrow.” He spoke softly, his voice a low hum that didn't feel intrusive.

I shook my head. “Not tomorrow.”

He nodded, understanding instantly. He didn’t question me. He didn’t push me. He just accepted my decision. That was something I was still getting used to.

“Declan,” I said, and he turned to face me fully. “Why are you still here?”

He smiled, a slight tilt of his lips. It wasn't the arrogant smirk he'd had on the rooftop. This was gentler. “My father is a big fan of old school traditions. He believes it's respectful to mourn with the family, even if we're not close.”

“And you?” I pressed.

His gaze was direct, without a single lie in them. “I'm here because I want to be. I want to be a friend to you, Emmah. Nothing more, nothing less.”

His honesty was a breath of fresh air. I hadn’t realized how long I'd been holding my breath until that moment.

“Thank you,” I said, and for the first time, I meant it without reservation.

He stayed for a while longer. We didn’t talk about Damian or Tasha or my family. We spoke about books, the history of the house, and the quiet beauty of the world. It was a simple conversation, but it was everything I needed. He gave me a sense of peace. He left soon after, a promise to be there if I needed him hanging in the air.

I went to my room. It felt less like a cage now. I took a shower and dressed in a comfortable silk robe. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, searching for the shattered woman I used to be. She was gone. In her place, a new person was emerging. Someone quiet, but not submissive. Someone who had been through a storm and found her own calm.

Just as I was about to lie down, a knock sounded on my door. It was Damian. He looked tired and haggard, his shirt wrinkled and his hair a mess. He didn’t look like the confident man I had married. He looked like a little boy lost.

“Emmah,” he said, his voice raw.

I waited.

He stepped inside, his hands clasped in front of him. “I wanted to tell you I'm sorry. For everything. For the things I said, for the things I did. I was a coward.”

I nodded slowly, letting his words sink in. He wasn't begging or pleading. He was just stating the truth.

“I know what Grandpa said to you,” he continued. “He told me not to give up on you. And I won't. I'll fight for you, for us, for as long as it takes. Even if you want to leave. I'll understand.”

His eyes were filled with a sincerity that was heartbreaking. I saw the love he spoke of, the love Grandpa had told me about. It was always there, hidden under layers of deceit and arrogance.

“I'm tired, Damian,” I whispered. “I'm so tired of fighting.”

He stepped closer, his hand reaching for mine, but he stopped himself, respecting my space. “Then don't fight. Just let me hold you. Let me be here for you. We can be broken together. We don't have to pretend anymore.”

His words resonated. They were honest. They weren't a promise to fix me. They were a promise to be with me in the mess.

I looked at his face, at the pain in his eyes. I saw the man I had married, not the boy I had been tricked into marrying. He was still the man I thought he was. He was just buried under a lot of mistakes.

“Just for a little while,” I said.

He nodded, a small sigh of relief escaping his lips. He sat on the edge of the bed and I laid my head on his lap. He ran his fingers through my hair, a gentle, soothing touch that felt like home. No words were spoken. None were needed. We were just there, two people trying to find their way back to each other in the wreckage of our lives.

The next morning, I woke up in bed. Damian was gone. He had left a cup of warm tea and a small note on the nightstand.

“I'll be in my study. I'll be here if you need anything. Just knock.”

I read the note again, a small smile on my lips. It was a new beginning, a fragile one, but a beginning nonetheless.

I got dressed in a simple black dress and walked to the study. He was sitting at his desk, head in his hands, looking exhausted. He looked up when I entered.

“I was just about to come to you,” he said.

“I’m here now,” I replied.

He stood up, walking toward me. “I've been thinking about what you said. About needing to breathe. I want to give you that. I've bought you a small home outside the city. It’s quiet and away from everything. I want you to go there. Just for a while. To be by yourself. To find yourself again. No guards, no staff. Just you.”

I was stunned. He was giving me the freedom I hadn't even realized I was craving.

“Are you serious?”

He nodded. “I am. I want you to have peace. I want you to be happy. Even if it’s not with me.”

“And you?” I asked.

“I'll be here. Waiting. Because that's all I can do now.”

I didn't argue. I didn’t question him. I just accepted his gift. He walked me out to a simple black car. A driver was waiting inside.

“He'll take you there. The keys are in the glove compartment. I’ll call you in a few days.”

He didn’t try to kiss me or touch me. He just held my hand, a look of pure love and regret in his eyes.

“Be safe, Emmah.”

As the car drove away, I didn't look back. I didn’t have to. For the first time, I knew I was moving forward.

The house was beautiful, surrounded by lush trees and a small creek. It was exactly as I had imagined. It felt like a new beginning. I spent my days reading, painting, and just being alone. For the first time since my marriage, I was just Emmah. Not Damian’s wife or my father’s daughter. Just me.

I hadn’t told anyone where I was. Not my father. Not Declan. Not even Liam. It was my secret. My peace.

A week later, my phone rang. It was Damian.

“Hello?”

“Emmah, it's me. How are you doing?”

“I’m doing great. Thank you.”

“Good. I’m glad. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

We talked for a long time. It was a simple conversation, but it was filled with so much honesty and a newfound tenderness. He didn’t bring up the past. He didn’t mention the baby. He just listened. He was finally listening.

I found myself smiling. A genuine smile that reached my eyes. I felt a sense of hope blooming in my chest. A fragile hope, but a hope nonetheless. I knew I couldn’t just forget what happened. I couldn’t just forgive him. But maybe, just maybe, we could start over. Not as a married couple, but as two people who were trying to find their way back to each other.

That night, I called Declan.

“Hello, Declan. It’s Emmah. I just wanted to say thank you again. For everything.”

“You’re welcome, Emmah. Are you okay?”

“I am. I’m finally at peace. I’m starting to rebuild myself.”

“That's what matters most. I’ll always be here for you, if you need a friend.”

I hung up, a sense of clarity settling over me. I was on a journey to find myself. It was my journey. And I would make the decisions. My decisions. No one else’s.

I was ready to face the world.

And I was ready to face Damian.