Chapter 28 Benedict
Benedict
“We need to talk.”
The words make me turn, but I could swear I sensed her there before she spoke: my little wife, the swell of her belly protruding under the light blue dress she has on. It rocks my world just to see her here, to know that’s she’s mine—even if she feels out of reach.
I let go of the windowsill and take a step toward her, suddenly aware of the divide between us. It’s been there for weeks, and I worry that it’s my fault. Stupid, little mistakes I keep making; ways I’m not letting her in.
The look in her eyes makes me feel like a kid who’s been caught doing something they shouldn’t. My brows knit as I wait to hear her out. Clearly, she has something on her mind; something that’s been bothering her, judging by her clenching, and unclenching her hands.
“Why are you in here?” she asks.
The words are sharp, but her voice wavers.
I straighten, guilt hot in my throat. “Maddie—”
She steps into the room, closing the door with a soft click. “Is this what you do when you disappear? You told me that you wouldn’t linger in the past, Ben, but this doesn’t feel like that.”
“No.” The denial bursts out harsher than I mean. “I don’t come here for… that.”
“Do you still miss her?” Words still sharp, this time the bob of her throat, her eyes watering.
“Because I don’t know what I’m supposed to think.
I thought we agreed on a future together, Ben, but it feels like you keep trying to escape to the past. Or avoid it.
And… you haven’t told me everything. I know that. ”
I take another step toward her, sensing the weight of that accusation.
“What do you mean?”
Had someone gotten to her when I was gone? Planted seeds that have sprouted doubt?
Her gaze flickers around the room, as if expecting Georgiana’s ghost to step out from behind the curtains. I stride forward, taking Maddie’s hands and smoothing them in my own, loosening the taut muscles with my thumbs.
“Maddie. I’m sorry; tell me what this is, what’s bothering you. I’ll tell you anything.”
She stares me down with those pretty eyes, serious and filmed with tears. “I know what everyone thinks,” she says quietly. “Or at least, I know what people have said about her death. That you were involved.”
It’s not something new, but hearing the rumor spill from her lips, it hurts all over again. My knees feel weak. Is this where she leaves me?
I can only nod, not sure where to start. Madeline’s eyes search mine.
“I don’t believe them.”
Her words come out as a relief, and they’re a balm to the fear that washed over my heart. Tugging her closer, I take a deep breath, inhaling her scent. Wishing I’d been better right from the start.
I don’t deserve her.
“Thank you.”
Maddie pulls away gently, searching my face until our eyes meet again.
“I need to hear it from you though, Ben, because I feel like you’re still hiding from it.
Like it’s something unsaid between us. I told you—I’m not trying to replace Georgiana, but I need to know that you’re giving me all of you. ”
“God, I want to,” I breathe out, wrapping her hand in mine and leading her out of the room. “I want you to know everything Maddie, and I should’ve told you sooner. I’ve just been… so much has happened, so much of it unexpected.”
She nods in understanding as we step into the hall, a few tears spilling down her cheeks. When I ask if we can go to the study, she lets me lead her there, hand still warm in mine.
Maddie nestles into the corner chair as if it’s been hers all along.
It kind of has been, from the moment she joined that first business meeting months ago, and I realize now that I’ve missed her here—her quiet presence while I talk business, negotiate on the phone, glancing up to see her thoughts expressed in the squint of her eyes or tip of her head.
Instead of sitting behind the desk, I pull another chair closer to hers, and lean forward, elbows on my knees.
“Georgiana was sick.”
She nods, and I wonder how she knew—who told her. Or if she read it. Georgiana’s obituary, I know, asked for donations to the ALS foundation.
“Really sick. And it was… hard. The last year or so. For her, mostly, and Derrick; they were all I cared about. It killed me that I couldn’t do anything for her.
To make her more comfortable.” I shake my head, unexpectedly lost in the shadows of the past, that sensation of frustration creeping into my chest again.
“Maybe I should’ve… she put off going to the doctor for so long, and by the time she did things had progressed… but I could’ve tried to find other specialists. Or funded an experimental treatment.”
“Don’t those,” Maddie interrupts, “not always end well? She may have been more uncomfortable, in more pain…”
Even now she gives me grace.
When her fingers slip into mine, I hold onto them like a lifeline. “Yes. That’s what she pointed out, too. Even dealing with it all Georgiana was the voice of reason.” I take a beat, try to catch my breath, keep the past from dragging me down.
“Toward the end. It was rough. Derrick was terrified, I think, of what it meant—he didn’t know what to think about death, and the things Georgiana told him didn’t seem to help.
Even now I wonder what he thinks happens…
” I trail off, losing the thread, the point.
“Anyway. There was a night when things seemed okay. We’d all had dinner together and she and Derrick played Uno.
She felt good enough that I was thinking maybe the next day we’d try to go out somewhere, have a picnic in the mountains, or I could rent out her favorite restaurant, and she wouldn’t have to worry about being seen.
I wanted so badly to have a good day with her that I was rushing through work, trying to finish it sooner rather than later, and when she came to say goodnight I wasn’t paying attention like I should’ve been.
I was distracted. And she didn’t say goodnight; she said ‘goodbye.’”
I look up, mouth open, sucking in a breath like a drowning man. So many times, I’ve thought of that night: of what would have been different if I’d just listened to her.
Madeline’s eyes well over with silent tears. They spill down her cheeks, darkening the dress when they land on her belly, and her fingers squeeze mine.
“I found her later. She’d… she’d taken all the pills and tried to make it so it wouldn’t be traumatizing for me, I think. It almost looked like she was sleeping at first.”
A broken laugh strangles from my throat.
“Even planning her own death, she was thinking of me. When I should’ve been thinking of her.”
“No,” Maddie murmurs, “no, Ben. She wouldn’t have wanted that, you know that. It sounds like she knew what she wanted: to call it on her terms. And she wanted it to hurt you as little as possible.”
Another laugh, at the idea that it could have hurt less somehow.
“It would’ve hurt no matter what, Maddie.
” Our eyes meet again over our clasped hands.
“If I’m being honest, I think that’s part of why I’ve kept some distance between us.
I’m not trying to play the experience card, but the things I’ve been through… ”
She nods, shifting to climb into my lap, her body warm as it presses against mine. “I know, Ben. I can’t imagine. And anyone who thinks you could’ve had a hand in doing that, could’ve done something like that at all much less without her consent…”
The past sits in the room with us, heavy. But with it is the present—the smear on my reputation that Maddie has been glimpsing here and there.
“I’m sorry,” she finally whispers. “I didn’t want you to have to relive it, but… I needed to know. To have it out between us. I couldn’t imagine moving forward…”
I nod, understanding, throat thick with grief and worry. “I should’ve done more for her,” I choke out. “I should’ve done more for you, Maddie, instead of holding you at arm’s length—”
“You’ve been doing things for me Ben, it just took me a while to see. It’s a different love language than what I wanted, but it’s yours. I get it now, that you were trying to give me a path forward, a life of my own.”
“You don’t have to do it. Take the job. It’s set in motion now, everything under marketing and PR will be one department with one head, but we can find someone—”
“No. I want to do it.”
Her hand sweeps down to the curve of her belly. Mine joins it automatically.
“Maybe not until this little one is settled in, but…” she smiles, the turn of her lips lighting up a warm ache inside of me. “I’d like that, I think. It’ll be challenging.
Her thumbs brush away tears I didn’t know were falling. “Don’t let them poison what we have.”
“What we have,” I echo, my voice breaking.
“Yes.” Her lips press to mine, soft and tentative, but real.
I cling to her like a drowning man. The kiss deepens, heat blooming between us, forgiveness and desperation tangled together. Her hands slide into my hair, my arms circle her waist, and for the first time in days, I feel the distance between us close.
“Maddie,” I murmur against her mouth.
She presses closer. “Don’t let me go.”
I lift her onto the desk, ignoring the sound of pens rolling and papers wrinkling. The skirt of her dress hikes up easily, her heat warmer somehow, hotter when I reach for it and she moans into my mouth. Guilt and grief blur into hunger, need, love.
We shed our clothes as if they were shackles. My mouth finds hers, her gasp catches in my throat, and the world narrows to the press of her body against mine, the frantic way she pulls me closer, the desperate insistence that this—here, now—is real.
It’s not gentle. It’s not perfect. It’s raw, ragged, the clash of two people breaking and binding at the same time.
When it’s over, we’re barely holding ourselves upright. I scoop her closer, help her stand, her hand splayed over the place where my heart still pounds.
For the first time in years, the past doesn’t choke me. It fades beneath the warmth of her, replaced by something new. Something alive.
I thread my fingers through her hair and press a kiss to her crown.
“I don’t deserve you,” I whisper.
“You deserve to be happy,” she says softly.
Her words sink into me, foreign and fragile. Maybe she’s right. Maybe Georgiana’s choice wasn’t my crime. Maybe Maddie is more than a second chance—maybe she’s salvation.
The future is coming. And I want to believe that love will be enough to survive it.