Epilogue Everleigh End of the Morning—Cameron Whitcomb & Evan Honer
Epilogue
Everleigh
End of the Morning—Cameron Whitcomb & Evan Honer
Dear Mr. Heavensly,
My name is Everleigh.
Five years ago, I married Christopher Banks. It was the worst mistake of my entire life. Not because our families arranged the union, but for the misery of the months and years that followed.
I do not believe that knowing the intricate details of his abuse will bring your family any comfort.
Knowing that Rachel was not his only victim won’t bring your wife back to you.
But I think it’s important you know he will never hurt anyone again.
I was willing to die for that certainty, but life had other plans for me too.
Soon he will face the full weight of the law.
Yours and Rachel’s lives together will be picked apart for public spectacle, much like my own.
I know it won’t be easy for any of us. And I’m sorry.
You deserve to rebuild in privacy after your loss.
Know that if you so desire, I’ll do whatever I can to support you in the difficult times ahead.
I’m sorry for what my husband did to your wife. She wasn’t the only one.
I hope that in his punishment, we can all find some solace.
Until then, I’ll continue to spend my time searching for ways to atone for his sins.
Not because they were mine, but because I’m lucky enough to still be here.
Others were not. I intend to use that gift to repair the damage he caused where I can.
And I intend to be at peace. I hope that wherever Rachel rests, she is too.
You have my eternal condolences and support.
Be well.
Yours Sincerely,
Everleigh
Sealing the letter, I stash it in my handbag.
A weight lifts off my chest.
Resuming checking the London townhouse, impenetrable silence envelopes me. I can hear my own breathing. The heartbeat slamming in my ears. My footsteps, feather light so as not to disturb the ghosts that haunt these halls. The after-image of all the suffering these walls have witnessed.
No Christopher.
No Mrs. Banks.
Nothing but memories.
By next week, it’ll be on the market. I got word from my husband’s solicitor that the townhouse would be sold to cover his upcoming legal fees. Even with all his riches, Christopher is facing a lengthy, torrid court battle that’s doomed to fail and will surely cost the earth.
Frankly, I’ll be glad to see this hell-hole gone. I could’ve paid someone to toss all my belongings—I have no intention of keeping anything from my old life—but my new therapist, Megan, wanted me to take control ahead of the approaching trial.
So here I am, packing up a life that was never mine to begin with. All the designer clothing, bags, and jewellery will be donated to a domestic abuse charity operating across the UK. Christopher’s blood money will be used to provide support for all the victims fleeing abusive spouses.
His legacy ends here.
With me.
The opulence and wealth mean nothing. I’d rather spend the rest of my life on the streets with nothing but the clothes on my back than take a penny from that man. I’ll pour drinks, mop bars, and scrub floors until I can buy my own belongings and build a life that no man can ever take from me.
“Everleigh?” Cassidy shouts.
“I’m coming!”
Looking around the bare walk-in wardrobe one last time, I step out of my empty bedroom. Cassidy waits in the hallway, a box balanced under her arm.
“I’ve counted nine Gucci bags and about a dozen Chanel pantsuits in just one box.” She winces at the thought. “You’re seriously donating all this stuff?”
I close the door behind me. “None of this is mine.”
“There’s hundreds of thousands of pounds’ worth of stuff here, girl.”
“Good. It’ll help hundreds of people in need just like I was.”
“I still can’t believe this was your life.”
“Don’t be fooled, Cass. It was a gilded cage, bags or no bags.”
“I know.” She smiles sadly. “I’m happy to see you say goodbye to it.”
“You okay to handle the last couple boxes?”
“Sure, I’ve got the charity’s address. I’ll see you back home.”
“Thank you for helping.” I reach out to clasp her arm. “I’m sorry you were hurt by him too.”
“Stop,” she interjects. “You don’t apologise for your ex-husband any more than I apologise for mine. We lost the pub, but we have each other, and for that I’m grateful.”
Grateful moisture prickles my eyes. “Me too.”
“Want me to wait?” Cassidy offers. “The guys are on their way back from the last drop-off.”
“No, I need a minute here.”
“Okay.”
“Drive safe?”
“Always.” She blows me a kiss.
Before she can leave, I call out her name. Cassidy spins on the spot, copper ringlets forming a halo around her.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for finding me and bringing me in out of the cold.” My heart swells, staring at the woman who gave me refuge. “I think that coffee saved my life.”
Her eyes crease at the corners. “You deserve the chance to live. If I had any part to play in giving that to you, then I’m glad to have helped.”
“Love you, Cass.”
“Love you too. Don’t make me cry, my mascara isn’t waterproof.”
Her chuckle follows her downstairs and out of the deserted house. I’m left standing on the landing, surrounded by empty rooms and ajar doors. Nothing remains of the hollow shell I called my life for five long years.
Little did I know, that wasn’t real life. The happiness I saw around me didn’t exist solely to taunt me with what I could never have. It was just waiting for me on the other side of a mountain I needed to climb.
Now, I can rest.
The hardest summit has passed.
One by one, I close each door in the house. Bathrooms. Bedrooms. Christopher’s office. The kitchen and laundry room that bore witness to his crimes. Spaces reserved for hosting lavish parties designed to reinforce the image that protected him for so long.
All closing.
All gone.
With the last door shut tight, I take a final breath in the doorway.
“Goodbye, Everleigh Banks.”
The front door clicks shut behind me. Locked and bolted, I post the keys back through the letterbox. I never had an ownership share in this place, and now it’s handed over to the vultures swooping in to feed on Christopher’s carcass while he bleeds behind bars.
The thought makes me smile as I hug my handbag. Only one item has been tucked inside along with the handwritten letter I need to post on the way home. A framed photograph of my father, cradling a toddler-me close, his smile beaming with pride. He’s coming with me.
An engine roars, followed by a blaring car horn.
“Hey! Hot girl at ten o’clock! You need a ride?”
Blinking back tears, I look over to the street. Sterling’s pickup truck is as filthy as ever. It looks painfully out of place in the fancy neighbourhood.
“Where you going?” I call back.
Leo leans out of the passenger seat, uncaring of who can hear us. “The ass crack of nowhere. You coming?”
As I walk to the kerb to kiss the grumpy driver, Sterling looks exasperated by his adoptive brother’s shenanigans after a full day of working together.
“Hell yes.” I beam ear to ear.
“Then get in, sweetheart. We’ve got a long way to drive.”
“Can you shut him up too?” Sterling pleads.
“Notoriously, no.”
“Ugh. Get in, love. I need a fucking coffee stop.”
“Yes, sir.”
Crawling into the cab to accept the rib-grinding hug Leo wraps me in erases any whispers left behind by the townhouse. I don’t look back as we pull away, putting Marylebone, London, and Christopher Banks as far behind us as possible.
It’s a long journey back to the Lake District with a couple of snack stops. Hawkthorpe welcomes us with a blazing summer sunset, the swollen ball of heat glistening on the horizon when we finally park up outside the cottage.
Smoke rises from the back garden, laced with the fragrant scent of grilling meat. My stomach rumbles so loud, Sterling bursts out laughing. Leo rests a hand over his abs and sighs.
“I agree with your belly. I’m starved.”
“Who’s barbecuing?” I study our home.
“Fletch has a surprise for you,” Sterling explains.
“What kind of surprise?”
“Nah, I’m not ruining it. Come see.”
Climbing out of the truck, I leave my bag in the footwell, then take each of their hands, letting both men steer me around the back. The garden gate opens into their lush green outdoor space, though the lawn is a little parched after a long, sweltering summer.
“Oh, shit.” Sterling skids to a halt. “I told her not to do this.”
“Who?” I panic. “Do what?”
“Bollocks,” Leo curses.
“We can still make a run for it?” Sterling suggests.
“Quick, turn around—”
“Boys!” a female voice hollers. “You’re home at last!”
Wearing a chef’s apron and snapping barbecue tongs in her hand like it’s some kind of threat, a greying woman with round hips, deep smile lines, and moss-green eyes that radiate kindness stalks over to us.
Before she can say another word, I know she’s Sterling’s mother. Their bottomless stares are near identical. She’s an older, feminine mirror image of him.
“Ma,” he emphasises. “You couldn’t have warned us?”
“Warned you? I’m your mother, Sterling Vale!”
“We’re tired from the road,” Leo attempts.
She rounds on him, tongs raised as a weapon. “You too, Leo Vale! I’ve been begging you for an introduction for months. I had to get that ball of sunshine over there to sneak me in!”
Across the lawn, Fletcher mops sweat from his face and neck using a balled-up T-shirt. He’s covered in a fine layer of sawdust, but that grin is utterly unrepentant.
“Dickhead,” Sterling yells at him.
Nope. Not even a silent apology. Fletcher does not care.
His mother turns, studying me from head to toe. “Now. You must be Everleigh.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I try to hide my nerves. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Oh, please. Call me Laureen . . . or Ma, if you prefer. Everyone else does.”
“Okay then.”
“Are you a hugger? Is that alright?”
“Sure.”
Tentatively accepting her embrace, I breathe in the scent of floral perfume and grilled meat. She’s soft and squishy, nothing like my thin, wiry mother who wouldn’t hug me even if I were on my deathbed.
“You’re as beautiful as my boys said.” She winks after releasing me.
“Ah, um . . . thank you.”
“Are they treating you well?”