Chapter 19
Isabella woke up in her bed with swollen eyes and a headache that felt like her skull was splitting open.
For a brief moment, she didn’t remember why, but then it all came rushing back - the bank, the fight, Thomas’s face when she told him about Paris, and how they’d torn each other apart in that beautiful dining room.
Her phone had seventeen missed calls and twenty-three text messages, but she ignored all of them.
She just couldn’t go to the inn today, couldn’t face Thomas, couldn’t even pretend to be professional.
Everything had shattered so completely, and for once in her professional life, she couldn’t fake it.
She sent a single email to Daphne: Not feeling well. Please handle any decisions that can’t wait. Will check in tomorrow. Then she turned off her phone and pulled the covers over her head.
* * *
Thomas stood in the entrance hall to the inn, staring at the grand staircase they had restored together, and remembered how Isabella’s face had lit up when they revealed the refinished banister, how she had run her hand along the carved wood with such reverence, and how he had fallen more in love with her in that moment.
“Boss?” Wade’s voice cut through his paralysis. “You want us to keep working on the veranda trim, or…?”
Thomas looked at his friend. “Oh yeah, yes, the trim, that’s right. Make sure the miters are tight. We don’t want any gaps showing when the paint goes on.”
Wade nodded slowly, looking concerned. “You okay, man? You look like you haven’t slept.”
“I’m fine. Just keep... keep working.”
After Wade left, Thomas pulled out his phone and stared at Isabella’s last text.
So did you. I’m sorry. He typed and deleted a dozen responses.
Can we talk? No, it was too soon. I love you.
Too little, too late. Please don’t leave.
Too selfish. Finally, he just put his phone away and forced himself to focus on his work.
The inn opening was nineteen days away - nineteen days to finish a project that felt poisoned now, nineteen days to figure out if there was any way to fix what he had broken.
* * *
Emma showed up at Isabella’s cottage at noon, letting herself in when Isabella didn’t answer the door.
“Go away,” Isabella said from the couch, still in her pajamas, surrounded by a bunch of wadded-up tissues, like some heartbroken girl in a bad 80s movie.
“Not a chance.” Emma sat down in the armchair across from her. “Look, I’m the one who wouldn’t stop calling during this whole mess. The least you can do is let me make sure you’re not drowning in it alone.”
“I’m fine.”
“You look like hell.”
Isabella laughed. “Thanks. That helps.”
Emma was quiet for a moment. “For what it’s worth, I’m furious with my dad. What he did - not telling you about the loan guarantee, about the letter to the county - that was totally wrong. You have every right to be angry.”
“But—”
“But nothing. There’s no but. He was wrong. Although I will say, and this isn’t an excuse, but my dad’s been managing crises alone for so long, he forgot how to ask for help or how to give help without taking over completely.”
Isabella pulled a fresh tissue from the box. “He told me I’m too weak to handle island politics, that he was compensating for my weaknesses.”
Emma winced. “Ouch. Yeah, that’s… that’s not good. That’s pretty bad.”
“And I told him that he controls everybody because he’s too afraid to feel helpless.” Isabella’s voice broke. “I told him about the Paris job interview, which I’ve been keeping secret for two weeks.”
“The what now?”
Isabella explained about Rousseau International’s offer, about the Thursday meeting she still had scheduled, and about how she’d used it as ammunition to hurt Thomas the same way he’d hurt her.
Emma was quiet. “Do you want the Paris job?”
“No.” The answer came immediately, with certainty Isabella hadn’t expected. “I want the inn. I want this community. I want your dad. It doesn’t matter what I want. We destroyed each other yesterday, and it’s just too broken to fix.”
“Oh, that’s crap.” Emma’s tone was sharp.
“You two destroyed each other because you’re both terrified.
He’s terrified of losing you again, so he tried to control the outcome, and you were terrified of trusting him, so you created an exit strategy.
Neither of you was really being honest about what you needed or what you were afraid of. ”
“So what? We talk about our feelings, and everything’s going to be magically better?”
“No. You talk about your feelings, and then you do the actual hard work of changing how you respond to things. Look, I don’t know if you two can fix this.
Maybe it is too broken, but if you’re going to walk away, at least walk away knowing that you tried everything.
Don’t leave because you’re scared. Leave because it genuinely doesn’t work. ”
After Emma left, Isabella sat in her cottage for a long time in silence. Finally, she picked up her phone and sent three text messages.
To Claire Rousseau’s assistant: I need to cancel Thursday’s meeting. I’ve decided not to pursue the position. Thank you for the opportunity.
To Maggie: Can we talk? I need advice.
To Thomas, she typed and deleted at least a dozen messages before finally settling on: We should talk, but not yet. I need time to think.
His response came immediately. Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere.
Thomas arrived at the inn before dawn, needing some quiet and physical work to try to calm the chaos in his mind.
He’d spent the night replaying the fight and then hearing Isabella’s accusations echo in the darkness.
You manage, control, and decide for everyone else because you’re so terrified of being helpless.
She was right. He had been doing it for almost his whole life.
With his father, he took control of the crisis, accepting Sarah’s family’s blackmail without exploring any alternatives.
He made the decision alone, nearly ruining his entire life in the process.
With Sarah, he never told her the truth about why he married her.
He managed her illness by becoming both father to Emma and nurse to Sarah and made medical decisions without even asking her what she wanted.
With Emma, he raised her with such strict control after Sarah died, managing her schedule and choices because he was terrified of failing her or losing her.
And now with Isabella, he was guaranteeing her loan, vouching for her project, and using his connections, all without asking if that’s what she wanted. Protection had always been his love language, but somewhere along the way, that protection had become control.
He was deep in the crawlspace, checking the foundation moisture barriers, when his phone rang. It was Robert Henderson.
“Hey Thomas, heard about the situation with Ms. Montgomery and wanted to check in.”
Thomas crawled out of the crawlspace and brushed off the dust. “News travels fast.”
“Always has on this island.” Robert’s voice was gentle. “Look, for what it’s worth, the review board is speeding up her permit. She should have the approval by the end of the week.”
“That’s good. She deserves good news.”
“Thomas,” Robert paused briefly. “What you did - you know, guaranteeing her loan and vouching for the project—that came from a good place. I understand that. But you can’t protect people from their own lives.
Sometimes, the best you can do is stand beside them as they face a challenge, not fix all their problems for them. ”
“Yeah, I know that now,” Thomas said as he sat on the porch steps.
“Do you? Because I’ve watched you do this for decades with Sarah, with Emma, with clients who needed guidance and not management, I understand your approach. You’re a good man with good intentions, but that isn’t an excuse for taking away someone else’s choices.”
“So how do I fix it?” Thomas asked quietly.
“Well, you start by being honest about why you do it. Not with Isabella, but with yourself. What are you really afraid of?”
After Robert hung up, Thomas sat on the porch steps for a long time, watching the sun rise over the marsh.
What was he really afraid of? Probably being helpless again, watching someone he loved struggle, and being unable to fix it.
The paralyzing terror he felt when his father’s business collapsed, when Sarah got her diagnosis, or when Emma cried herself to sleep after her mother died.
He’d spent his entire adult life trying not to feel that helpless ever again, and in doing so, he’d hurt people he was trying to protect.
* * *
Isabella met Maggie at the club for lunch, grateful that they found a table in the corner away from everyone who always wanted to listen to gossip.
“So,” Maggie said, “Emma called me, gave me the basics, and now I want to hear your version.”
Isabella told her everything. The loan guarantee, the fight, the Paris offer, the way they had just eviscerated each other right there in the dining room. By the end, she was crying again, and Maggie was handing her a linen napkin.
“Well, that’s quite a mess you two have created.”
“I know.”
“Do you love him?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want that Paris job?”
“No, and I’ve already declined it.”
“Then why haven’t you told him that?”
Isabella twisted the napkin in her hands. “Because I’m scared. He left me once. He just made decisions for me again. Now, what if he does it again and again? What if I trust him and then he destroys me?”