Three Months Yesterday (Forever in Stonebridge Hollow #1)
Prologue
The branches of the weeping willow sway in the distance, causing the worn swing to peek through its leaves. I can’t see them from here in the kitchen, but if I close my eyes I can imagine the countless initials carved into the bark all around the trunk. A testament to the history of this land.
It’s been years since I played under that tree, but there used to be a time my brothers and I could always be found there. Running around and swinging while we waited for our parents to finish up work and take us home for dinner.
Once upon a time, my father and his siblings played around that tree too. My grandfather and great-grandfather…generations of Hawthorne children growing up on this land. Taking care of it. Making it everything it is today.
I may not have grown up here in the traditional sense, but I’ve loved it all the same. It’s always been my safe place. The place I always come back to. The place I always want to call home.
It’s no wonder my attention strays out the window above the sink, especially in a moment like this one.
“I’m sorry, Madison,” Mark whispers.
His words bring me back to the present, forcing my mind into the house.
I let my hip fall against the cold ceramic sink, and goose bumps instantly pop along the exposed skin between the top of my shorts and the bottom of my tank.
The warmth of the steaming cup of coffee in my hands distracts me momentarily, until I hear the soft creak of the chair as Mark takes a seat at the kitchen table.
Mark’s words aren’t necessary. I know how sorry he is. I can hear it in his voice. See it in the way he carries himself, as if he has the weight of the world on his shoulders.
If I’m honest with myself, it’s not hard to see how we got here. Ten years together and we’ve gotten too comfortable with being content. I mean, we’ve known each other since we were five and been dating since we were eighteen, but until recently we never talked about marriage or our future.
Maybe I should’ve paid more attention to that. Been more concerned with his lack of interest in truly planning a future together, but marriage and kids weren’t things I really thought about, not outside of knowing I wanted them. Not until my brother moved home with his son.
I knew I was getting to the age when most people start working toward those things, but I thought I had a head start.
Not only was I in a serious relationship with someone I cared about, but we were spending time just the two of us, building a strong foundation before introducing another human who’d be dependent on us.
“I know you’re sorry.” My words are soft as I bring my eyes back to him. I don’t have to question if he hears me when his eyes fall to the floor between his feet. The tinkling of the wind chime outside the only sound between us.
But silence consumes the air inside, and I know Mark wants me to say something else.
No. He needs me to say something, but I don’t have the words.
Mark didn’t talk about a future with me, but I didn’t talk about one with him either. It wasn’t until earlier this year that I started to realize just how complacent both of us had become with bailing on each other. With prioritizing other people in our lives.
He may have started it by canceling our Valentine’s plans, but I continued it when I didn’t invite him to the St. Patrick’s Day bar crawl, and we both failed at talking about how we’d spend the fourth of July.
There was a time I wouldn’t have doubted how much we cared for each other, but looking back at the last six months, we’ve simply been going through the motions of a relationship. It’s clear we both checked out months ago—maybe even years.
My gaze moves back out to my family’s land and my eyes catch on the pile of splintered wood still lying in the yard. I don’t even try to stop my mind from wandering to things that don’t matter right now.
The land has changed so much over the centuries my family has owned it, but the Hawthornes have always had great pride in it. Even if they let the first family home built on this land sit vacant and untouched for almost 175 years.
When I finished renovating the house—after almost four years of working on it—everyone was ecstatic I achieved my goal.
It’s a simple house, very reminiscent of its time, but the moment I saw it—even in its disastrous state—it felt like the place was meant to be mine. It’s felt like home since I understood what the word truly meant.
People often say home isn’t necessarily a specific location, but a feeling of peace and contentment, and I wholeheartedly agree. That’s exactly how I felt when I looked at this house.
Now, after living here for almost a year, I can’t imagine ever leaving it, even if I can never truly have peace and seclusion from the guests that come to stay at The Lantern Inn.
“Madison.” Mark’s gentle voice pulls my attention back to him. “Can you please say something?”
My eyes are on him, but for some reason, I can’t focus.
That’s not right. I am focused on him. On the man I’ve claimed to be in love with for my entire adult life, but I know my response isn’t even close to what he wants—or deserves.
We may have grown apart, but Mark is a good man. Even on the days we only ever said “good morning” and “good night” to each other, I’ve never doubted that if I needed him, he’d be there for me. If I opened my mouth, asked him for something, and he was able to give it, I have no doubt he would.
“I’m not sure what you want me to say.” The words are barely audible as they leave my lips, and I’m pretty sure it’s from the guilt coursing through me.
There should be more pain ending such a long-term relationship, shouldn’t there? We should both want to fight to keep this alive, shouldn’t we?
“I want to know how you feel. What you’re thinking. What you want to happen next.” The volume of his voice rises, and I get it—the frustration coating his words. “Tell me you hate me. That you love me. Just say something.”
Mark’s not wrong. I should have something to say, but there’s a tightness in my chest moving up my throat, and I can’t make the words come out.
All I can focus on is the relief that coursed through me when he said he wanted to break up and now the guilt building in my chest at the realization I don’t care about ending this.
I’ve been with this man since I was eighteen years old. I’ve lived through so many ups and downs with him, and yet, all I have is relief that it’s ending.
I let my eyes wander out the window one more time. It’s a beautiful summer day and while I’d rather be out in the gardens like I planned, I know this is where I need to be.
Taking a deep breath, I move away from the sink and take a seat across from Mark, prepared to give him my full attention, but know the end of us is inevitable.