Chapter Twenty #3
His mood turned somber again as he pulled the keys from his pocket. “Guess…the Realtor’s not here yet.”
Heavenly hoped he didn’t have to wait long. He hadn’t even walked inside yet, but she already feared he was holding himself together by a thread. No surprise. This place held wonderful, terrible memories.
She pressed close, doing her best to provide silent comfort as he unlocked the front door. Once he pushed it open, he glanced down at her, lips curled up woodenly in an attempt to convince her that he was okay. But she knew him too well.
With a sweep of his hand, he gestured her and Beck inside. His fake smile gave way to something grim and stoic that twisted her heart.
God, this was killing him.
Stomach knotting, Heavenly stepped into the house.
One glance, her chest threatened to buckle.
Afternoon light streamed through the windows, illuminating a living room that felt frozen in time.
Haunted. Like it was ready for the return of the family that would never step foot inside again.
A sectional butted against one soft beige wall, its cushions still plump, as if ready for someone to sit down at any moment.
Built-in bookcases flanked a brick fireplace.
Family photos lined one wall, their subjects captured in a long-gone moment of normalcy.
This house had once been his home, where the people he’d loved had once lived, watched TV, and slept. Where they’d made breakfast and argued about whose turn it was to take out the trash. Where a baby had cried at two a.m. and exhausted parents had soothed him.
Where they’d planned for a future that had never come.
And now, they were all dead…except Seth. He stood here in the present, tormented by his past and rattled by the unwritten future.
Framed photos on the wall of the adjacent hallway drew Heavenly’s attention.
She shuffled to them slowly, her gaze catching the first image of an impossibly young Seth on his wedding day.
He stood beside an even younger brunette with soft doe eyes, wearing a lacy white dress.
Autumn. They smiled, looking like barely more than kids, convinced that love alone was enough.
Something in Autumn’s posture looked not only submissive but fragile. Seth hadn’t spoken much about their marriage, but the woman had been almost dependent on him. Had that played a role in their strain?
The next picture ripped the breath from Heavenly’s lungs.
Autumn in a hospital bed, exhausted but glowing, cradling a tiny newborn against her chest. Seth leaned over them, pressing a kiss to the baby’s downy head like a proud father.
The look on his face—raw vulnerability mixed with the unguarded joy of a man who believed his world was complete.
Heavenly’s throat closed up. Her vision blurred. She blinked against the tears, but they came spilling down.
The Seth in that photo had been convinced their tomorrows were guaranteed. That he’d watch his son grow to a man, that he’d grow old with his wife.
She turned to study Seth. This version of him was wary and haunted. He was afraid to believe in the future.
And she understood precisely why now—not in a purely academic way, like, of course losing his family had been catastrophic. As she stood amid the rubble of his former life, understanding came with all the subtlety of a punch to the gut.
She swallowed back tears and pressed on.
Hanging to the left was a professional portrait of the three Coopers, maybe two months after Tristan’s birth. They all wore white shirts and khakis, smiling against the soft-focus background. They looked like any young family—tired, happy, and convinced they had all the time in the world.
Instead, that world had crashed down less than thirty days later.
Heavenly bit her lip to hold in a sob, but it was no use. Her chest buckled. She pressed her hand to her mouth, trying to breathe.
But the sadness pressed in from every direction, threatening to crush her.
In the living room, she saw neatly arranged baskets of toys—wooden blocks, plastic keys, a stuffed giraffe. A pristine bassinet crouched beside the couch, its white eyelet fabric yellowing with years gone by.
She imagined Seth coming home after a long shift, tie loosened, scooping up his cooing son from his bouncy seat and inhaling his milky-sweet scent.
She pictured it so clearly, the vision hurt.
Autumn had probably smiled from the kitchen before they’d shared dinner, bath time, then a lullaby.
The boring, precious rhythms of family life.
And then, on Christmas Eve, some faceless monster had ripped it all away. Destroyed Seth’s family in a single explosion. Made sure that he came home to find—
Heavenly couldn’t finish the thought.
She tried to brace herself on the nearby doorjamb. But her knees weakened. Her stomach turned. Her realization felt like a stab in the heart.
How had Seth survived such horrific tragedy? How had he kept breathing and living and pushing ahead when everything he’d known and loved had been cruelly incinerated in the blink of an eye?
Movement in her periphery pulled her back to the present. She turned to find Beck staring at the bassinet, his expression carved with fury and brutal restraint—as if his will alone was keeping something damaged and violent inside him from breaking loose.
Heavenly grabbed his hand. Squeezed. His trembled as he gripped hers in return, his jaw working.
Their eyes met—hers blurry with tears, his taut with glossy restraint. In that moment, they understood without exchanging a single word: We’re asking him to risk everything again. To put his heart on the line and trust that his future wouldn’t be ripped away a second time.
The magnitude of what they’d demanded of him was staggering.
“I’ll show you the rest,” Seth murmured behind them, his voice rough and raw.
She turned. He looked as if he was made of glass—like one whisper, one sympathetic touch might shatter him into infinite, irreparable pieces. She ached to go to him, wrap her arms around him, and promise him everything would be all right. But she couldn’t guarantee that. No one could.
For weeks, she and Beck had given lip service to the idea that tragedy could strike at any moment. But Seth alone had not only known that; he’d lived it.
Shame that she hadn’t listened, hadn’t really understood, engulfed her.
Beck wrapped a steadying arm around her waist. She leaned into him gratefully as they followed a rigid Seth down the hall in heavy silence.
They entered the master bedroom. The decor was basic—navy comforter, white shutters, and matching nightstands.
Surprisingly dust-free surfaces and knickknacks combined with a closet full of clothes.
It felt like a place where people still lived.
Like Autumn might call out from the kitchen.
Like Tristan might fuss from his nursery.
As if they’d all return at any moment and resume their lives.
But they wouldn’t, not ever again.
Seth had carried that knowledge, adrift and alone, for nearly nine terrible years. And looking around her now, Heavenly wondered how he could possibly be ready to start over and create a new family. He swore he was…but was that wishful thinking? Or more kind lies than actual truth?
Seth stood in the doorway, shoulders rigid, breathing too controlled. He stared at the bed like it was a monster that might roar to life and swallow him whole.
She found Beck’s hand and gripped it tightly, fighting back fresh tears.
“Seth?” she finally whispered, aching to offer her love and support.
He didn’t reply, didn’t move. His carefully blank expression said he was trying desperately not to feel, as if giving into the past he’d never fully grieved would destroy him.
Woodenly, he turned the corner and made his way down another hall.
On the left, they encountered a guest room that held a daybed, a few stacked boxes, and not much else. Dust motes floated in afternoon light.
After a grunt, Seth turned away and led them deeper into the house. He stopped before a door on the right and wrapped his hand around the knob, dragging in a shuddering breath. Then he opened the door.
Tristan’s nursery.
The room was perfectly preserved, another horrific snapshot of life interrupted.
A shape sorter sat neatly on a shelf with pristine board books, which had obviously seen little use in Tristan’s tragically short life.
A plush elephant slumped against the wall.
A padded rocking chair sat forgotten by the window, and Heavenly could picture Seth here, cradling the son he’d never hold again.
And in the center of it all, the empty crib. Cold, almost barren, except for the mobile of felt stars and moons suspended motionless above the mattress, as if waiting to soothe a baby who would never sleep there again.
The sight was a punch to Heavenly’s chest. Her knees threatened to buckle again. A sob stuck in her throat as her vision swam.
Beside her, Beck swallowed hard and gripped the doorframe for support. “Jesus, Seth. How did you survive this?”
Seth didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure he could. Instead, his throat bobbed once—hard—as if he’d swallowed a scream while he stood frozen in the doorway. His face was a mask of anguish as he stared at the crib like he was watching his son die all over again.
Heavenly’s heart threatened to shatter as she bent and picked up a criminally pristine teddy bear. Tristan had never teethed on it, never roughhoused with it. He’d barely had time to cuddle with it.
She squeezed the plushy toy, its cheerful smile shattering something inside her.
Heavenly couldn’t hold back anymore. She sobbed. Ugly, gasping tears that tore from somewhere deep in her chest. For Seth, who’d lost everything. For Autumn, who’d perished with her baby. For Tristan, who’d never truly known life.
For the horrific tragedy of it all.