Chapter 29 Maddie
Maddie
The first thing I notice when I wake is the quiet.
No snoring, no steady breath beside me, no weight of an arm draped heavy across my waist. Just the sound of birds outside, the distant snick of the gardener who keeps the grounds.
The space next to me in Ben’s bed is already cool, as though he’s been gone for hours.
I roll onto my side, gathering the sheets closer, pulling his pillow against me like a substitute.
It smells faintly of him—cedarwood and something darker, sharper, like smoke.
It should comfort me. Instead, it makes my throat ache.
Last night was… something I can’t even name.
Desperate, tender, ragged at the edges. The kind of night that felt like both breaking and healing at once.
He told me about Georgiana. About her illness, her choice.
About the guilt that’s hollowed him out all these years.
And I told him it wasn’t his fault, even though I know he doesn’t believe me yet.
We clung to each other like two drowning people sharing a single piece of driftwood.
For the first time in weeks, I thought maybe—maybe—we’d found a crack of light between all the shadows.
But now the bed is empty.
I sit up slowly, wincing at the stiffness in my lower back.
The pregnancy aches are worse in the mornings, before I’ve had a chance to move around.
My body feels like it belongs to someone else these days—heavier, slower, restless.
I press a hand against the swell of my belly, whispering softly, “Good morning, little one.”
She kicks, a faint flutter under my palm. It makes me smile despite everything. Maybe today is the day I’ll start looking at names—though even that thought aches a bit, unsure if Ben will be there for me to bounce ideas off of.
The clock on the wall reads barely past five. Too early, even for Ben. But then again, he doesn’t really sleep. I’ve seen the light in his office at two in the morning, his silhouette hunched over papers. I’ve heard him pacing the hallways when he thinks I’m asleep.
I slide off the bed, pulling one of his shirts over my head from the chair by the window.
The fabric hangs loose on me, the sleeves too long, but I like the way it smells, the way it makes me feel wrapped in something that’s his.
My bare feet sink into the rug as I move toward the bathroom, but a faint glow catches my eye.
The door to the adjoining room is cracked open, a thin line of light spilling out.
Curiosity tugs at me. Maybe he’s on a call, maybe he couldn’t sit still after last night’s confession. I pad over and push the door wider.
And freeze.
Ben is sitting at the desk, hunched over, his back to me. My phone glows in his hand. The screen light casts his face in harsh planes, his brow furrowed, his mouth tight.
For a moment, my brain blanks out. Then fury spikes, hot and immediate.
“What the hell are you doing?”
He startles, his head snapping up. For a split-second guilt flashes across his face, quickly masked by steel. “Maddie—”
“Is that my phone?” My voice rises, sharp and shaking.
His jaw clenches. “I needed to know.”
My stomach twists. “Know what?”
He turns the screen toward me, and I see it—my messages with Jack.
“Who is he?” Ben demands.
The shock of betrayal surges higher than my embarrassment. “You actually went through my phone. How old are you?”
“Answer me.” His tone is low, commanding, the CEO in him bleeding through.
I storm forward, snatching the phone from his hand. My grip is tight enough to hurt. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to paw through my things like I’m some employee under investigation.”
His eyes flash. “Who is Jack?”
“An old friend.” My throat feels raw. “That’s it.”
Benedict rises slowly from the chair, his height looming, his body radiating barely-contained tension. “An old friend you still message in the middle of the night? An old friend you tell you wish things had turned out differently?”
The words slam into me like a slap.
“You read that.”
“You sent it.”
My breath stutters. Shame floods me, tangled with fury. “That wasn’t about you. And it was months ago.”
“Then what was it about?” His voice is sharp enough to cut.
“My life!” I burst out. “Before all of this. Before Derrick, before you. Jack and I—” I choke, drag in a ragged breath. “We grew up together. We used to talk about traveling, about getting out, about chasing something bigger. None of it happened. That’s what I meant.”
His expression doesn’t shift, carved from stone.
“And I’m supposed to believe you weren’t talking about us? About this marriage?”
I glare at him, tears stinging my eyes. “God, Ben, is that what you really think? That I lie awake at night wishing I’d never married you?”
The silence that follows is worse than words.
“You don’t trust me,” I whisper. The truth tastes bitter. “Not enough to ask, not enough to listen. You’d rather sneak into my things and assume the worst. Even though this whole time, from the moment you said, ‘I do,’ you’ve been keeping secrets from me.”
“I have reasons to be cautious.” His voice is tight, his jaw set.
My chest cracks open. “What, did you think I would divorce you if I found out everyone thinks you killed your wife?”
The question hangs between us like a guillotine. His eyes flicker, pain searing through, but I don’t stop.
“I’m not going to hide a diagnosis from you. I’m not going to walk out into the night and never come back. I’m right here, Ben. Alive. Carrying your child. And if you can’t trust that—if you can’t trust me—then what the hell are we even doing?”
His face hardens, but his eyes are raw, wounded. “I’ve lost before, Maddie. Forgive me if I don’t want to lose again.”
“That’s not an excuse to treat me like a suspect.” My voice breaks. “I can’t live like this. With you watching me like I’m a ticking bomb, when you’re the one pulling away, keeping things from me. With you twisting innocent words into proof that I might regret you.”
He takes a step forward. “Maddie—”
“No.” I hold up a hand, shaking. “I can’t. I need space.”
The words rip out of me before I can stop them. But once they’re said, I know they’re true.
Ben flinches, as though struck. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” Have we gone days in uncomfortable silence before, especially following the pregnancy? Yes. Have I outright told him I can’t be around him?
No. Not yet.
I didn’t think I’d ever have to.
For a moment we just stand there, breathing hard, staring at each other across the gulf that suddenly feels unbridgeable. Then I turn, the phone still clutched in my hand, and walk out before I crumble.
The hallway stretches long and lit up, dawn just starting to break through the windows. My footsteps echo against stone, my pulse hammering in my ears. I make it to the suite I stayed in those first weeks—slam the door shut, and lean against it, gasping like I’ve run miles.
The silence presses in.
My suitcase sits on the top shelf of the closet, waiting. My hands move on their own, dragging it down, unzipping it with a rasp that sounds like thunder in the stillness.
I start to pack hours later, when I’m sure Ben understands that I meant it, and doesn’t come knocking. I don’t want him to see me shoving things into the suitcase, trying not to try.
Not because I know where I’ll go. Not because I’m ready to leave. But because the act itself is a kind of control, a way to remind myself that I can still choose. At least… that’s how I feel until I realize just how badly I want to be anywhere but Aspen.
Montana?
No; that doesn’t feel right either. But I pause to pick up my phone and text Stella anyway.
He went through my phone and found my texts with Jack.
She could be out riding, out with the girl she met, she could be arguing with our parents or just listening to music. But miraculously, she answers almost immediately.
Mads—shit. Okay. How did he react?
Not great, I type back, the words blurring from tears in my eyes. This is a mess Stell. We talked about Georgiana and the rumors. But now this. It’s like there’s a new hurdle every time we get past one.
Ok… so who exactly does he think Jack is?
An old friend.
My stomach turns, queasy, and only gets worse at her response: Hard to demand the truth when you aren’t willing to give it sis.
Turning the phone over, I put a hand to my chest and try to swallow down the nausea and guilt. But it doesn’t work, and in moments I’m in the ensuite, hunched over and retching. Lucky that I haven’t had breakfast yet.
Sitting here on the cold tile floor, I can’t help picturing Jack: his perfect posture, crew cut, the ever-serious look on his face. So different from the little boy he was running around the ranch. Dreaming of traveling.
Which he got to do, only…
With a sigh, I stand and push memories of Jack away, resolved now to actually leave. Maybe it’s what we need—space.
It’s hard to be here with Ben every day, feeling like I’m failing over and over. Feeling like I’m already messing this up for our daughter.
I fold a dress, smooth the fabric with trembling hands.
I add jeans, socks, and the soft pajamas Stella bought me when I first told her I was pregnant.
I pause over a scarf, holding it to my face, the scent of cedar clinging to it faintly—Ben’s scent.
My throat tightens and I put it to the side.
Summer will be full-on in Philadelphia and the last thing I’ll need is a scarf.
Tears blur my vision. I blink them away, shove the last few things into the suitcase.
The zipper waits. Half-closed, half-open.
I sit on the edge of the bed, my chest heaving. I can still hear his voice, low and accusing: An old friend you tell you wish things had turned out differently?
I meant the past. He thinks I meant him.
And maybe that’s the real fracture—no matter how much I love him, no matter how much I want this family, maybe he’ll never believe it.
The house is silent, but I swear I can feel him on the other side of the walls, pacing, waiting, hurting.
And still, I press my hand to the suitcase zipper and wonder if I should finish what I started.