Chapter 7
It was a bitterly cold day in March when we buried Colson.
The wind cut through my coat as I stood by his graveside, feeling the chill seep into my bones.
After everyone else had left, I remained, staring at the fresh mound of earth that marked his final resting place.
The silence was deafening, broken only by the rustle of the trees as they swayed in the wind. I wanted to talk to him one last time.
“I miss you,” I whispered, my voice trembling with emotion. “Even after some of the horrible things you did to me. But that man... that man slowly began to disappear, and I wonder what you would’ve been had you lived.”
I paused, my breath hitching as tears welled up in my eyes.
I wiped them away with the handkerchief clutched in my hand, my fingers tracing the embroidered initials—C.A.
I looked up, feeling a pair of eyes on me, and saw my brother, Logan, standing by the limo.
He was watching me, concern etched on his face.
“Colson,” I continued, my voice breaking. “I want to thank you for telling me the truth. And I’m sorry for keeping my truth from you. I won’t have the baby we created, and I feel guilty for not telling you. But I refused to burden you when you were already burdened with so much. I love you.”
The tears I’d been holding back burst forth, and I pressed the handkerchief to my face, my shoulders shaking with sobs. The grief I’d been suppressing for so long finally overwhelmed me, and I felt as if I were drowning in it.
A minute later, I felt Logan’s presence beside me. He slipped his arms around my shoulders, pulling me into a tight embrace. His warmth was a stark contrast to the coldness that surrounded us, and I clung to him, desperate for comfort.
“Come on, Joey,” he murmured, his voice gentle yet firm. “It’s freezing out here. Let’s get you home.”
Home. The word echoed in my mind, hollow and meaningless.
The Ashworth mansion would cease to be my home once the will was read.
I was sure Vaughn would be the new owner, and the thought of living under his rule was unbearable.
According to what I had managed to glean, Colson had left me more than I deserved.
But no amount of money or property could fill the void he’d left behind.
All I wanted was to escape, to start a new life away from Windmere Haven.
Logan helped me to my feet, guiding me to the limo.
I felt numb as he helped me inside, my body moving on autopilot.
My parents were waiting for me, their faces etched with worry as they tried to comfort me on the drive back to the mansion.
I barely registered their words, lost in my own world of pain and regret.
When we arrived, the driveway was lined with expensive cars, a stark reminder of the life I’d been a part of.
They were here to celebrate the life of my husband, but I didn’t feel like celebrating.
The very thought of it made me feel sick.
All I wanted was to crawl into bed, to hide under the covers and pretend that this was all some terrible nightmare.
Maybe if I wished hard enough, I would wake up and find Colson beside me, his hand resting on my stomach, feeling the life we’d created together.
But I knew that wasn’t possible. I knew that Colson was gone, and so was our baby. And no matter how hard I tried to escape it, the reality of it all would follow me wherever I went.
The ballroom was a blur of faces, some familiar, most not. I moved through the crowd, accepting condolences with a nod or a forced smile. Colson’s associates and friends, people I’d barely known or exchanged more than a few words with, offered their sympathies in hushed tones.
Their words, though well-intentioned, felt empty. They didn’t know the man I had known—his complexities, his flaws, his moments of vulnerability. They knew only the facade he showed the world, the powerful businessman, the commanding presence. But that was just one side of Colson.
I spotted my parents, standing together near the wide French doors.
My mother caught my eye and gave me a sad smile, while my father, usually so stoic, looked genuinely mournful.
They had always admired Colson, respected him even.
Their expressions mirrored the loss I felt but couldn’t fully express.
And now that I knew of their history with my husband, it had deeper meaning than just the loss of their daughter’s spouse.
As I moved past them, I found Easton standing by the fireplace, a drink clutched in his hand.
He looked devastated, his face drawn and pale, eyes red-rimmed from holding back tears.
Simone was beside him, her usual haughty demeanor softened by grief.
She reached out, placing a hand on Easton’s arm, but he didn’t seem to notice.
He was lost in his own world, consumed by the loss of his father.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and walked over to them. “How are you holding up?” I asked quietly.
Easton glanced at me, his eyes dull and lifeless. “Barely,” he muttered, taking a sip of his drink. “I still can’t believe he’s gone.”
Simone nodded, her gaze distant. “None of us can,” she whispered. “It doesn’t seem real.”
I wanted to say something comforting, something that would ease their pain, but the words wouldn’t come. The truth was, I didn’t know how to comfort them when I couldn’t even comfort myself.
The evening dragged on, with more people offering their condolences before slowly trickling out. By the time the last guest had left, the house felt eerily quiet. The energy that had once filled it was gone, replaced by a heavy stillness that pressed down on my chest, making it hard to breathe.
The entire family had decided to stay over, wanting to offer each other comfort.
My parents were in the guest wing, and Easton had retired to his old room, just like I had.
The thought of sleeping in the bedroom I’d shared with Colson was unbearable.
Every corner of that room reminded me of him, of the life we had shared, and of the death that had taken him from me.
I made my way to my old bedroom, the room I had first lived in when I moved into the mansion. But sleep didn’t come. I tossed and turned, staring at the ceiling, my mind replaying the events of the day, the sound of the dirt hitting Colson’s coffin, the finality of it all.
It felt like an eternity had passed when I heard it—Easton’s muffled cry from the room next door. My heart clenched, recognizing the sound immediately. He was trapped in a nightmare. Without thinking, I slipped out of bed and made my way to the closet passage that connected our rooms.
I pushed the door open quietly, stepping into Easton’s room.
The moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow on his bed.
He was thrashing under the covers, his face twisted in anguish.
I hurried over, slipping into bed beside him.
“Easton,” I whispered, gently shaking him. “It’s okay, it’s just a dream.”
He woke with a start, gasping for breath. His eyes darted around the room before settling on me. “Joey,” he choked out, his voice raw with emotion.
“I’m here,” I said softly, wrapping my arms around him. He buried his face in my shoulder, his body trembling. I held him tightly, my hand running soothingly up and down his back. “You’re safe. It’s over.”
He didn’t say anything, just clung to me like a lifeline. I could feel his tears soaking into my shirt, his pain mirroring my own. We stayed like that for a long time, wrapped in each other’s arms, finding comfort in the shared silence.
Eventually, his breathing began to even out, the tension in his body easing.
I stayed with him, not moving, not speaking, just being there for him the way I had always been.
It wasn’t until his grip on me loosened, and I heard the soft, steady rhythm of his breathing, that I realized he had fallen asleep.
I pressed a kiss to his temple, my own eyes stinging with unshed tears.
“I’m here,” I whispered again, more to myself than to him.
I laid my head on the pillow next to his, my hand still resting on his back, and closed my eyes.
The grief was still there, heavy and suffocating, but for the first time since Colson’s death, I felt like I wasn’t carrying it alone.
The days following Colson’s funeral were a blur, with the mansion feeling more like a mausoleum than a home.
We moved like ghosts through the hallways, barely acknowledging one another.
Vaughn had taken over Colson’s office, slipping into the role of CEO as if he’d been born for it.
I had no doubt he would soon be made permanent by the board.
His presence was a constant reminder of the power shift that was underway.
I sat at the kitchen table, sipping ginger ale to quell the nausea that had become a constant companion. The carbonation bubbled against my tongue, but it did little to soothe the hollow ache in my chest.
Simone slipped into the seat across from me, her eyes bloodshot and rimmed with red. She looked as though she hadn’t slept in days, her usual polished appearance frayed at the edges.
“How are you?” she asked softly, her voice thick with emotion.
I met her gaze, my eyes heavy with unshed tears. “When does it stop hurting?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“It doesn’t,” she replied, a sad smile tugging at her lips. “Losing my mother still hurts. It doesn’t go away; it just dulls over time.”
Tears welled up in my eyes, spilling over and streaming down my face. I wiped them away with the sleeve of my sweater, feeling a pang of guilt. “I’m sorry,” I murmured.
Simone reached out, her hand hovering over mine before she hesitantly withdrew it. “Your mother was always sweet to me,” she said, her voice gentle.