Chapter 49
Chapter
Forty-Nine
LAUREN
-Fool, forget him-
As I stand on the scorched lawn, the cottage’s blackened jagged skeleton barely standing before me, my chest aches. The acrid stench of smoke clings to my hair and my skin, and there is a hollow searing pain in my heart.
Everything I’ve built, everything I’ve dared to hope for, is gone—reduced to ash and ruin. I need to go inside, to salvage something, anything—some photos, a book, a piece of the life I brought with me—but my feet drag, heavy with dread. I know there is nothing left worth saving.
I step through the gaping doorway and can’t bear to look at the warped frame, the glass shattered into glittering dust under my sneakers.
The living room is a graveyard of memories: the pink sofa, once vibrant, now an eyesore; my garden journals all a pile of ashes; the oak table where we ate pizza, splintered, blackened, unrecognizable.
The staircase looks too unstable to attempt.
My clothes, my grandmother’s patchwork quilt, all consumed or destroyed, leaving nothing but soot and despair.
I’m crying, tears cutting tracks through the grime on my face.
I can’t stay here. I can’t breathe in this place. I especially can’t face Hugh, who’s probably watching from the manor, ready to swoop in with his charm, his lies, to twist this tragedy into another chance to manipulate me.
My hands shake as I ask one of the workers to lend me his phone, my fingers fumbling to call a taxi.
My voice breaks as I give the address, begging the driver to hurry, because I need to be gone.
I don’t know where I can go, but I just need to escape before Hugh finds me, before his gray eyes and soft words unravel my anger into doubt.
The taxi pulls up, its engine rumbling, and I climb in.
“Where to Miss?” the driver asks.
Where can I go? “I… I…,” Good God, I don’t even have the money to pay him. Then I remember Annabel—her warm smile, her chatter about village gossip, her kindness when I first arrived and knew no one. “Just into the village, please. Outside the bakery.”
The driver’s glance in the rearview mirror is curious but brief.
I slump against the window, the glass cold on my cheek, and realize I’m alone, truly alone—no family, no friends nearby, no one to turn to in this foreign country where I thought I’d find a home.
Tears spill again, silent, unstoppable, and I press my hand to my mouth, stifling a sob, because I don’t know where to go, don’t know how to start over when I have nothing but the clothes on my back that are stained with soot and reeking of fire.
The taxi weaves through the narrow lane, past hedgerows and stone walls, until we reach the village.
It is market day and there are stalls bright with flowers, bread, and fruit.
Its normalcy is a cruel contrast to my chaos.
I step out, my legs unsteady. My clothes are rumpled, my hair is a tangled mess, and there are smoke stains smudging my arms and face.
I must look like I’ve crawled out of a nightmare movie set.
“Sir, it’ll only take a moment. I’ll be out soon to pay you,” I tell him.
But he waves his hand in refusal. “No need, Miss,” he says, his voice filled with sympathy. “Good luck.”
Before I can protest, he drives away, and I’m left staring at the taxi in surprise and immense shame.
Look at what I have been reduced to. I turn around and head into the grocery store, and people stare at me, their eyes inquisitive and pitying.
I shrink away from their eyes. Feeling dejected and exposed, I go through the store doors. The air inside is cool and fresh.
Annabel’s behind the counter, her auburn curls bouncing as she bags a customer’s groceries, her laugh bright, familiar, until she sees me. Her smile fades suddenly. Her green eyes are wide as she hurries over, her apron flapping.
“Lauren, oh my God, what’s wrong?” she asks in a hushed whisper.
“There was a fire,” I manage, my voice cracking, “at my cottage. It’s gone, Annabel. It’s all ashes. I don’t have anywhere to go.” The words spill out, raw and broken.
Her face crumples, her shock mirroring my own.
“Oh, love, you can come stay with me,” she says immediately and pulls me into a hug, her arms warm, her apron rough against my cheek.
“Don’t worry about a thing. My house isn’t far—you can go there now, take a shower, and eat something.
You can stay as long as you need, figure out what you want to do about the cottage.
” She steps back and fishes her house keys out of her pocket and presses them into my hand.
“I’m stuck here till my shift ends, but go. Number 21 at the bottom of this street. Rest and wait for me. I’ll bring a nice dinner for us.”
“Oh, Annabel. Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“It’s nothing, love. I’m so sorry about what’s happened to your cottage.”
I nod, tears welling again, because her warmth, her generosity, is more than I expected, more than I feel I deserve, and it breaks me, the kindness cutting through my numbness.
“Thank you again,” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“Everything’s gonna be okay,” she says quickly before she returns to her post.
I want to believe her, want to cling to this lifeline, but I’m still haunted by Hugh’s betrayal. I wipe my eyes and follow Annabel’s directions. I walk the short distance to her house, the key biting into my palm.
Hers is a small starter house. The kitchen and living room share a cramped floor, a narrow bedroom tucked in the corner, its walls papered with faded florals, its windows letting in soft, gray light, but right now, it’s heaven.
Even the clutter—books stacked on the coffee table, the assortment of blankets draped over the sofa, dishes in the sink— is reassuring.
It’s warm, lived-in, a stark contrast to the manor’s cold grandeur, to the cottage’s smoldering ruins.
I think I prefer it, this simplicity, because it’s safe, because it’s not Hugh, not his lies, not the carnage of my dreams turned to ash. Right now I’m angry, so angry, my chest burns with hatred for him, for his charm, his kisses, his whispered promises that I was stupid enough to believe.
How could I not see it? Even after I was warned.
And twice at that. How could he risk my life though?
It is what pisses me off the most. How could he risk my life, just for a piece of land?
Mostly, I’m furious with myself because I let him in, let him seduce me, and now I’m paying for it. I’ve lost everything.
I head to the bathroom, the tiles cold under my feet, and strip off my clothes. I try to avoid looking at myself in the mirror, but ultimately, I give in. My reflection in the mirror is one of a stranger—pale, hollow-eyed, filthy, smudged with grief.
The shower is lovely and hot, and it quickly washes away the smoke and soot.
Afterwards, I find a can of beans in the kitchen and toast some bread to eat it with.
It’s comforting enough, but once I’m finished, I’m nearly inconsolable once again.
I do the dishes sitting in the sink, tidy up the kitchen, and sink onto the sofa, a lumpy green thing with a frayed throw. I close my eyes and try to take a nap.
But my mind won’t rest. I don’t even have my phone. It was burnt in the fire so I can't even call Sandy. I’m trapped, stuck here until Annabel returns, with nothing but my thoughts, my anger, my loss.
When Annabel comes back, her face tired but warm, she brings a loaf of fresh bread, cheese, sausages and meat. We cook together and eat at the tiny kitchen table.
“What are you going to do, Lauren?” Her voice is gentle and careful.
I shake my head. I have no idea, no plan, no strength left. “I don’t know,” I say, my voice small and sad. “But I’ll figure something out soon. Can I borrow some money until I can call my bank and sort a card out for me?”
“Of course,” she says instantly. “As long as I can afford it, you can have it.”
“Thank you, Annabel.”
“I know we’ve only been friends for a while, but please stay here as long as you need to recover and re-group.
I am immensely touched once again by her kindness. “I don’t know what I would have done today without you,” I say sincerely, and she pulls me into a tight hug.