Chapter 60
Chapter Sixty
RONAN
I didn’t stay at Lily’s last night. She had an early start and I was too restless and would have kept her awake, so I came back to the house and worked on things that wouldn’t make noise and disturb the neighbors.
But now, in the early hours of the morning, while the house is still, I’m sitting at the kitchen table with books spread out in front of me. I have a notebook open, and the pages fill with my handwriting, thoughts spilling onto paper while the rest of the world sleeps.
It started a week ago. I’d been lying in bed, unable to sleep, and suddenly I couldn’t stop thinking about the words I used to write.
The poetry I’d scratch onto anything I could find.
For years, I convinced myself that part of me was dead, that I’d killed it along with everything else when I pushed Lily away.
But then she came back into my life … and the words came back with her.
At first, I was afraid to write them down. Scared that putting them on paper would make them real, and make me vulnerable in ways I can’t afford. But the need built until I couldn’t ignore it anymore.
So, I started writing. Just for myself. To see if I still could.
And I can.
I trace my fingers over what I wrote last night after Lily left.
Lily drops her shoes by the door without a thought, settling into the space as if she was always meant to be here. She moves through the house, leaving traces of herself in the quiet. When she’s gone, it feels empty.
She falls asleep against me. Her fingers twist into my shirt, holding on even in sleep.
She’s in the air, in the rooms, in the pages I keep filling with her name. I never thought this house could ever be my home. With her in it, I almost believe it could be.
The coffee maker hums in the background while I write. Sleep never comes easily, even now. But these quiet moments are different than before. Instead of waiting for something to break, they feel like breathing space. A time when I can sort through everything I can’t say out loud.
The sun breaks over the horizon, painting the kitchen in shades of gold.
I close the notebook, and place it back in the drawer where I’ve been keeping it, along with the others I’ve filled over the past few nights.
Later, I’ll take them out again. I’ll write about today, about Lily, and how her presence makes everything more real, more stable.
For now, though, I’ll fill the hours with repairs on the house.
I’ve stopped for a break when a car door slams outside. My body automatically braces—old instincts die hard—but it’s only Tom, standing beside his car with a mug of coffee, cleaning snow off his windows.
My phone buzzes. When I check, it’s a reminder from Mitchell’s office about the appointment this afternoon.
My stomach knots immediately. I have to go in and find out what the remaining terms of Edwards’ will is.
Whatever he’s left for last, it has to mean something.
I just don’t know if I want to find out what it is.
And there’s a small part of me that wonders if this is where everything falls apart.
If the last condition will be impossible to meet, and show that this whole thing has been too good to be true.
Shaking my head, I shove the thought away and head back upstairs to continue working on the bathroom. The tiles wait in neat stacks—simple white hexagons for the floor, large format gray slate for the shower. It’s the kind of mind-numbing work I need to keep my thoughts away from the meeting later.
When I next check the time, it’s almost one. I pause long enough to wipe my hands clean and grab my phone. I stare at the blank message screen for longer than I want to admit, finger hovering over Lily’s name.
I could go alone. I should go alone. This is my problem to deal with.
But I don’t want to.
I type the message before I can talk myself out of it.
Me: Need to go to the lawyer later to hear about the final part of the will. Come with me?
I stare at it for way too long, waiting for the words to rearrange themselves into something that doesn't sound quite so … needy. They don’t. I press send.
When she replies almost immediately, and then follows up with wanting to be picked up from school, and suggesting dinner afterward, the tension bleeds from my shoulders.
She didn’t say no.
By the time I need to leave to pick her up, half the floor is done. My hands are filthy, and my knees ache from kneeling on the floor. I take a quick shower, catching my reflection in the fogged-up mirror. The man staring back looks different from the one who first walked into this house.
Less haunted, maybe. Or just less afraid.
The school parking lot is half-full when I pull in. A few teachers are standing in the yard. Some of them glance over, but the way they look doesn’t hit me the same way it did a few weeks ago.
Lily walks out of the building, hair slipping free from where she’s tied it up, paint smudges on her cheek. When she sees me, she smiles, and it lights up everything inside me.
She slides into the passenger seat, and leans across the center console to kiss me. “Ready?”
I reach for her hand, threading our fingers together. “Yeah.”
I’m not. I’m not even the slightest bit ready for whatever is waiting at Mitchell’s office. But I pull out of the parking lot anyway, her hand warm in mine.
I drive through town, while her fingers trace patterns over my thigh, and my heart pounds harder the closer we get to the office. I try to focus on her touch instead of the growing dread building in my gut.
When we find a parking space, and walk toward Mitchell’s office, we find Tom waiting outside. That stops me in my tracks.
“What—"
He straightens from where he’s leaning against the wall. “Right on time.”
I frown at him. “Why are you here?”
He nods toward the office door. “Why don’t we go inside and find out?”
After living next door to this man for the past four weeks, I know better than to try and get more out of him, so I follow him inside, Lily’s hand tight in mine.
“Mr. Oliver. Ms. Gladwin.” Mitchell is already waiting in the reception area. “Right on time. Please come this way.”
His office seems smaller than the last time I was here. Maybe that’s because I’m not alone. Lily’s fingers stay linked with mine as we sit. Tom takes the chair near the window, his expression giving nothing away.
My leg bounces. I force it to stop.
“The final terms of the will.” Mitchell pulls out a thick envelope. “Mr. Edwards was very specific about the timing of this.”
I force myself to breathe, and brace myself to be told that it’s time for me to leave.
“He wanted you to have time,” Mitchell continues. “He wanted you to settle in, and start making the house yours. But mostly …” He glances at Lily. “He wanted to make sure you weren’t alone for this part.”
He slides the envelope across the desk.
I’m frozen to the spot, can’t even lift my hand to take it.
“Ronan?” Lily’s voice is soft, but it breaks through my paralysis.
I reach for the envelope with fingers that don’t feel like my own, and open it. Inside, there’s a letter, written on familiar paper. The same paper he used to write all the notes and letters he’s sent to me over the years.
Ronan,
You’ve spent too much of your life alone. That stops now.
You might not see it yet, but you belong here. And you don’t have to figure out what happens next alone.
The final condition of your inheritance isn’t about money or property, it’s about people.
Tom isn’t just here for support. He’s here because you need someone who won’t let you disappear. He’s agreed to check in on you, and remind you that you’re not just passing through. He’s there to make sure you don’t slip back into survival mode.
What I need you to do now is important. It’s about something you never wanted to talk about.
Lily.
She’s the heart of this. The heart of you. You trusted her. You loved her. And I think you still do. Maybe you don’t know what to do with that yet, but I do.
She’s part of this final stipulation.
You have to let someone in, Ronan. You have to choose to stay.
So, here’s the deal.
I want you to reach out to her, if you haven’t already.
I want you to talk to her, to let her get to know you again and see who you’ve become.
And for the next five months, I want you to meet her here, at Mitchell’s office, once a month.
You don’t have to say anything profound or bare your soul.
You just have to show up. The same way I came to visit you at the prison, month after month, whether you spoke to me or not.
Tom will be there, too. You don’t have to like it. But I want you to try. I think Lily will want that too.
You spent too long being no one. I want you to see what it feels like to be someone. To be part of something.
Harris
The words blur. My eyes burn. I grip the letter so tight that it crumples between my fingers.
Lily squeezes my fingers hard. When I glance at her, her eyes are bright with tears. She’s reading over my shoulder, her other hand pressed to her mouth.
Tom sighs quietly. When I look at him, his eyes are suspiciously bright too.
“He told me about it a year ago,” he says. “Asked if I’d be willing to do it. I said yes before he finished explaining. He knew he didn’t have much longer left. The cancer had spread too far.”
My throat is too tight to speak. He’d never told me he was sick, never let on in all the letters or text conversations.
Mitchell clears his throat. “Ms. Gladwin will need to read the terms, obviously, but since she’s here with you now … I don’t think she’s going to disagree. But the final decision rests with you. If you accept, then we’ll set up the first meeting.”
I look down at the letter again, eyes moving over Harris’ handwriting and the words he wrote because he knew that I’d need someone to force me to stay.
The words in my hand mean more than money ever could.
More than the house. Because Harris knew.
He saw through every wall I built. And even now, he’s still trying to save me.
I close my eyes, suck in a deep breath, and give Mitchell my answer.