Chapter 35 Chloe
The house was quiet in a way that didn’t feel empty.
Not like the attic—it felt safe and easily disrupted, like if I yelled, I knew someone would come running.
Killian was sleeping, but I couldn’t. Every time I closed my eyes, I’d have a flashback.
I didn’t want to go to sleep and wake up screaming and make everybody worry.
“Come in,” Elara’s voice called.
I pushed the door open. She was propped up against the headboard, her braids cascading over her shoulders, a book resting forgotten in her lap.
“You okay?” she asked, closing the book and setting it on the nightstand.
I nodded. Then I shook my head. “I don’t know,” I admitted.
She shifted slightly, pulling back the duvet to make space. “Come here.”
I walked over and sat on the edge of the bed.
“Why are you helping me?” The question came out as a whisper.
I had coaxed Killian into helping me. Mary did because she felt sorry for me and knew my momma.
Grandpa Silas owed my father a favor. “You're the only one here who's doing this for free,” I added, my voice cracking.
“No favors. No history. You don't even know me.”
Elara didn’t answer right away. She studied me, as if she was deciding how much she wanted to say. “Because you’re a woman. Because I see you,” she said.
I frowned, my fingers plucking at a loose thread on the blanket. “That’s not enough. People don’t just… do this. Not for strangers.”
She looked down at her hands, then back at me. “When I was younger, my parents died, and the people who took me in… they gave me a life. Everything came with conditions, though.”
The air in the room felt tight. Familiar.
“I learned how to function as the person they built,” she went on. “How to smile when I was hollow. How to perform. I married their son, ran their business. I didn’t get locked in a room, Chloe, but I know exactly what it feels like to not be free.”
Her expression softened. “I told myself that what I had was enough—that I should be grateful just to have a roof. I wasn't. I was dying inside. I don’t want another woman feeling like that. Not when I can reach out a hand and pull her up.”
I looked at her, my throat tight. "I keep waiting for you to tell me what I owe you. A percentage of the company. A piece of the trust."
Elara laughed. "Darling, I have my own money. My husband has money. I got a whole white grandaddy with money. I don't need yours. What I want is for you to be able walk into a room and not feel like you have to ask for permission to breathe. That’s my payment."
I blinked back tears.. “Does it ever stop feeling so…?” I couldn’t put words to it. “You don’t think I’m… broken?” I asked.
“No.” She didn’t hesitate. “I think you’re healing wrong.”
I blinked, pulled back by the bluntness. “What does that mean?”
“I know you want to skip the ugly parts. But healing is ugly. Scars scab over before they get better.”
“I don’t want to sit in it. I just want to forget.”
“I know,” she said, her voice turning to silk. “But you have to. And you don’t have to do it alone.”
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Elara smiled. “Now, go back to your room or scooch in. Julian’s flying in the morning, and he’s going to be a handful from the moment he lands. Both of us need rest because he wants to meet you, so get under the covers or get out,” she chuckled.
“I’ll go back,” I said, standing up. “Goodnight, Elara.”
“Goodnight, Chloe.”