Chapter 37
Maddie
The house is quiet when I wake, the kind of quiet that makes the wood beams creak louder and the fireplaces seem to sigh.
Colorado mornings are like that—hushed, waiting.
I pull one of Ben’s sweaters around me, soft cashmere that hangs nearly to my knees, and pad down the wide staircase.
We’ve been back home for a few days after the trip to Sweden, and Dr. Furman won’t have to tell me that we’re cutting it too close to go time—I can’t imagine leaving the lodge now.
Slipping my phone out of my pocket, I text Stella back from our conversation the previous night: Nesting is definitely settling in… I’m surprised I even got out of bed this morning.
I’m halfway to the kitchen when I hear it. A voice I don’t expect, low and familiar, tucked into the silence like it doesn’t belong here.
“…wasn’t sure if this was a good idea.”
I freeze at the bottom step. My pulse spikes, dread coiling tight in my stomach.
When I round the corner into the great room, he’s there.
Derrick.
He’s slouched on the sofa, hands clasped between his knees, eyes shadowed. Hugh is standing between us, stance wide and phone in hand.
Derrick looks older than the last time I saw him, though it hasn’t even been that long. His jaw is rough with stubble, his hair unkempt. There’s none of his usual smugness, none of the polished charm he wielded like a weapon.
Just… resignation.
His eyes lift, finding mine. For a moment, neither of us speaks.
I fold my arms across my chest, instinctive, protective. “What are you doing here?”
“He arrived about fifteen minutes ago,” Hugh supplies smoothly, though his knit brows show he isn’t sure what to do with this intrusion either. Derrick is a Bronson, and Ben never told him he couldn’t come home.
I’m just surprised he even wanted to.
“I’m not here to start shit,” he says quickly, voice glum. “I’m not staying. Just came back because…” He hesitates, shoulders hunching. “Because Dad asked me to.”
The word Dad jars me, makes me stiffen. Derrick’s gaze flicks to the floor.
And then, as if summoned, Ben’s voice rolls through the room. “Because it’s time.”
I turn. Ben strides in from the hallway, every line of him composed, calm, like he’s been preparing for this moment. He looks at me first, his eyes softening, and then at Hugh. “We should be fine, Hugh. Thank you.”
Hugh nods, turning to head out, commenting quietly: “I’ll bring breakfast here, Maddie, if that’s okay.”
My stomach growls like the traitor it is, and Derrick’s eyes flick to me, amused but still sullen. The nausea has thankfully subsided, but now I’m ravenous all the time—even at odd hours.
Once the three of us are alone, Benedict moves toward his son and sits in the armchair closest.
“I should’ve done this years ago,” he says simply.
I shift, uncertain. “Maybe I should give you two privacy—”
“No.” Ben’s voice is firm, steady. He comes to stand beside me, his hand brushing mine, grounding me. “Stay. You’re family now. You should hear this too.”
The words sink deep, warm and solid, even as nerves prickle under my skin. Just like back in Sweden I realize that it finally feels like we’re equals—that he wants me here with him.
Derrick exhales hard, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”
We end up in Georgiana’s old sitting room. It feels strange to be here—even after my brief stint at this end of the lodge, it never really felt like mine. Only now, it doesn’t feel like she’s competition either. I wonder if Derrick can sense that too.
Ben stands tall in the center, Derrick leaning against the far window, me hovering near the door. I don’t want to intrude, but Ben’s look earlier was clear: stay.
He drags in a breath. “Derrick, I should’ve told you the truth a long time ago. About what happened.”
Derrick’s mouth twists. “I already know what happened. You checked out. After Mom died, you put the business before me. Before everything.”
Ben shakes his head. “That’s not the truth. That’s what I let you believe, because I thought it would protect you. And that’s not what I’m talking about—at the river, you accused me of having a part in her death. You need to know that isn’t true.”
Derrick scoffs, but there’s no bite in it. Just exhaustion.
Ben steps closer, his voice low, raw. “Your mother chose to die peacefully. She was sick for years, and I shielded you from how bad it really was. You were a kid, Derrick. You didn’t need to carry that.”
Derrick’s head jerks up, eyes narrowing. “What are you talking about? I know she was sick, I—”
Ben cuts him off, the words coming in a rush now that they’re finally having this out.
“She begged me not to let you see her like that. Not to let you remember her weak, gasping, begging for relief. I honored her wish. I kept you away in those last months so you could remember her as vibrant, as whole. I thought I was doing right by you.”
The silence that follows is heavy. My throat aches just listening.
Derrick’s hands flex on the windowsill, his knuckles white. “So, all those nights you said you were working—”
“I was at her side,” Ben admits. “Holding her hand. Listening to her cry. Trying to keep the world together for both of us.” His voice cracks, barely, but enough that it cleaves the air.
“And when she passed, I didn’t know how to reach you without breaking that promise to her.
I didn’t know how to tell you that she chose to leave us, or that I was okay with it—because she was finally not in pain anymore. ”
Dragging a hand down his face in the silence, Benedict murmurs: “I’ve always wondered if I did hear her say ‘goodbye’ instead of ‘goodnight’ that night.
And if I ignored it on purpose. But I swear, Derrick, I don’t think I did.
I was so exhausted and scared and trying to keep the company from falling apart because I was missing so much. I didn’t know she was going to…”
Derrick stares at him, disbelief and grief warring across his face. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why let me hate you all these years?”
“Because I thought my silence would spare you pain.” Ben’s jaw tightens, his eyes glinting. “Instead, it left you carrying resentment. And having to hear the rumors that I gave her those pills, that I was complicit in her death. That’s on me. I should’ve trusted you with the truth.”
The room is thick with everything unsaid, with the weight of years that can’t be rewound. I want to move closer, to touch Ben, but I stay still, letting this play out.
Finally, Derrick lets out a rough laugh that sounds more like a sob. “God, you’re such an idiot.”
Ben almost smiles. “Yes. I am.”
They stare at each other, father and son, two men bound by blood and silence.
Then Derrick shakes his head. “I can’t stay here, Dad. Not now. Colorado… it doesn’t feel like home anymore.”
Ben nods slowly. “I know.”
There’s no anger in his acceptance, no push to make Derrick change his mind.
Just quiet understanding. And, notably, Derrick doesn’t say anything about the inheritance—even though I know for a fact that Ben has been talking to his attorney about the best way to divide things up for Derrick and Juniper.
Derrick’s gaze flicks to me, and for the first time in a long time, it isn’t sharp or cruel. It’s tentative. “Maddie… I’m sorry. For everything. I treated you like crap, and you didn’t deserve it. Maybe someday… things will be okay between us. For real. And maybe I can meet my little sister.”
Emotion swells in my chest, surprising and fierce. I manage a small smile. “I’d like that.”
He nods once, then looks back at Ben. “Take care of her. Both of them.”
And then he’s gone, footsteps fading down the hall, the front door closing with a finality that echoes through the house.
The silence stretches, heavy and fragile.
Ben stands in the middle of the room, shoulders squared, but I can see it—the slight tremor in his hands, the weight pressing into him. He just ripped open wounds he’s carried alone for years and though he stood tall through it, the cracks show now.
I cross the room and wrap my arms around him from behind, pressing my cheek between his shoulder blades. His body is rigid at first, then slowly, painfully, he exhales and sinks back into me.
“You did the right thing,” I whisper.
His voice is rough. “I should’ve told him sooner.”
“Maybe. But you told him now. And he heard you. That matters.” We stand in silence for a beat, and then I mention something that’s been on my mind for a while: “Do you think he’ll come back for Christmas? Or even want to? We’ll have Stella here, so maybe it’ll be less…”
I trail off, and Ben’s shoulders sink. “It wouldn’t be the first he missed,” he murmurs. “I’ll wait a few days and extend the invitation. But two weeks from now might be too soon.” Turning his head, he presses a kiss to my forehead.
His hands cover mine where they rest against his chest, his grip firm, grounding. “I don’t want him to hate me anymore.”
“He doesn’t.” I squeeze tighter. “Not after today. You two will find a way forward, Ben.”