Chapter 18
Chapter eighteen
Katie
Two months without him, and life has lost its color. After Lance walked away from me, I stood at a crossroads. Stay or go? Knobscratcher has chased me from so many places and people over the years that this time, for the first time, I resolved to stay.
Harold has been a godsend. I explained the situation in the barest possible terms, he took care of the rest. He handled two more visits from the bastard in the week he first appeared, and after being manhandled off the estate, Knobscratcher never returned.
Harold mentioned they’d roughed him up enough to make a point; I didn’t ask for details.
According to Amy, she saw him later in January with a cast on his arm.
If it only took a few big guys to break some bones, I’d have hired someone years ago.
But bullies don’t pick fights they can lose.
They pick people they’ve already broken.
The main house has been unusually busy these past weeks.
Men came and went, lifting what looked like artwork into vans.
I’ve learned not to ask questions; answers at Eden House never lead anywhere comforting.
Last week, a woman arrived with Harold. Mid-forties, expensive haircut, clipboard in hand.
She spent hours inside the house. I wondered if she was an estate agent.
Maybe the Edens are considering selling.
I’ve been keeping to myself. I don’t go into Aviemore—not with the risk of seeing Lance.
That would destroy me. I miss him terribly.
He got under my skin in all the best and worst ways.
Being without him feels like learning how to breathe again with a lung missing.
My nights are filled with memories of him, my days filled with his absence.
He came to Eden once, a few weeks after the breakup. Harold met him at the gate and told him I’d returned to London, no forwarding address. I knew he’d come back; Lance isn’t a man who gives up easily. But I couldn’t face him. I wrote him a letter and asked Harold to give it to him when he arrived.
Lance, Please know these past months with you have been my happiest. I consider myself privileged to have met you and shared these moments together. You will find a wonderful woman who deserves you. Keep being the amazing man you are. All my love, Katie xoxo
My writing, ironically, has benefitted from the heartbreak.
I chained myself to my desk to meet my March deadline.
All the emotion swirling inside became fuel.
My manuscript is finished three weeks early.
It’s a sad story—two lovers torn apart by warring families.
A tale told a thousand times, yet readers still hold their breath, wondering if love will conquer.
Sometimes it does. Sometimes it doesn’t. But most get their happy ending.
I doubt I’ll ever get mine.
Next month, I travel to London for meetings with my agent and new publisher.
Seeing Amy will be the one bright part of the trip.
Things have been rough for her. Terry can’t come to terms with them being unable to have children—specifically, with Amy being unable to.
She calls often, her voice laced with frustration and sorrow.
In her last call, she sobbed. “Amz, get away for a while. Come up here. We can wallow in self-pity together, then go back to London next month and figure things out.”
Rain batters the windows, and the trees bend under the force of the wind. The dogs and I are cuddled on the sofa, fire roaring. They’ve adapted to indoor living beautifully—now I have to drag them outside. They’d rather stay warm at my feet. Sensible creatures.
A sudden banging at the door jolts me upright. Fear slams into my chest. Please, not him again. I close my eyes and beg whatever higher power might be listening. The dogs bark wildly, but the knocking continues.
I creep to the window and peer out.
Amy.
Soaked to the bone, hair limp, mascara down her cheeks.
I throw open the door just in time for her to collapse into my arms.
“He’s left me, Katie,” she chokes out. “He said he needs children in his life. He said he needs to be with someone who can give him that.”
I wrap my arms around her tightly and guide her inside.
“Where is he now?”
She swallows hard. “I came home from work yesterday, and he was packing a bag. He said he was leaving. That time was running out. That he needed to find someone who could give him a family. He said he couldn’t waste any more years hoping it would happen with me.”
She crumples, and I lower her onto the sofa.
“What am I going to do, Katie?” she sobs. “I can’t be alone again. No one will want me. A barren, single woman in her forties.”
My heart shatters for her.
I pull her into a hug, tighter than before. Nothing I say will fix it. As someone in the same position—not able to have children, struggling to find a partner—you learn to live with the unfairness, but it never stops hurting.
I head to the kitchen, grab a bottle of wine, and pour two massive glasses—each one half a bottle. Then I take out the huge bar of milk chocolate Lance bought me for Christmas.
I never opened it—the inscription always stopped me.
Merry Christmas, Gorgeous. Love you xoxo
Tonight, though, calls for wine and chocolate in industrial quantities.
It won’t fix anything.
But maybe, for one evening, it will help us forget.