Chapter 44
Chapter forty-four
Antonia
Savannah bursts into her dad’s bedroom. I’m sitting at the dressing table, applying my lipstick. Luckily, I’m dressed.
“Antonia, can you believe it’s today?” she says, her face lit up.
Her sister, Rose, follows close behind her. She grabs my shoulders, cuddling me tight.
“I can’t believe today’s the day,” she agrees.
“It’s an exciting day,” I say. They squeal, both clapping their hands together.
Ben appears from his shower; a towel wrapped around his waist.
“Girls, what have I told you about coming into the bedroom?”
They shrug, laugh, ruffle my hair—which I’ve spent a long-time straightening—and leave again. He walks over, leans down, his lips grazing my cheek.
“Today’s the day,” he says. “Today, we get to open the retreat.”
We stare at each other in the mirror, him dripping water all over me. I’m grinning like an idiot.
“Get off,” I scold as the water splashes on my face. “You’re getting me wet.”
His mouth ghosts my ear, his breath warm and inviting. “I love it when you’re wet.”
I bat him away, laughing, still staring at his reflection as he walks away.
The last few months have been incredible. We’ve built something beautiful from the ashes of what we lost.
It’s new. It’s fresh. It’s only been a few months, but it’s real. We have a purpose, and I can’t believe how lucky I am. I’ve finally found my place with someone who loves me for me. And so has Ben.
Both of us have space in our lives for the future and our pasts. We’re a team.
The retreat’s ready. We’re opening today.
After months of protests, PR stunts, and what feels like every challenge I’ve ever faced coming to a head, we’ve actually made it.
The beds are made, the gardens are pruned, and everything’s prepared.
Today, we’ve invited the shareholders, the sponsors, the funders, and everyone who helped create the retreat to cut the ribbon and open what we hope will be a wonderful asset to the community, to Ben’s patients, and to anyone dealing with cancer.
We’ve achieved our dream.
Or we will have—in a few hours.
Minutes later, Ben appears behind me, suit on, shirt and tie, while strong fingers rearrange his hair. My stomach twists into knots, then jumps into my throat.
This feels so natural, so normal now.
I don’t live here full time, and I’m not sure I ever will. It’s not my home. It’s his home. And I like my own space. But it feels right to be here right now.
With him.
With his kids.
It almost feels like home.
Once everyone is ready, we head downstairs for breakfast. Amy has made a full spread. Ivan even has an apron on, frying sausages in the pan.
“We’re celebrating,” she announces, pouring bubbles into champagne flutes.
“I see that, and Ivan’s cooking,” Ben says.
Ivan glances over his shoulder. “I always do it on special occasions.”
Ben laughs. “Yeah, especially when it’s worth your while.”
They wink at each other. Amy and I shake our heads. The two of them have become friends over the last few months. There’s always a sarcastic comment in the mix.
Liam and Ollie sit at the table, throwing strawberries or whatever at each other. Late teens now, but still as juvenile as ever. And from what I can guess from looking through old family photos, they’ve always been like that. Best friends, unless playing a video game.
I glance over at the picture on the wall. It’s an individual image of Bex now. The family one was taken down a while ago. I never asked why.
It’s like Ben’s wedding ring. He used to wear it on his other hand, but it’s gone now too. He took it off one day and never put it back on. I didn’t mention it, and neither did he. I just took it as a sign he was ready to move on.
Once everyone’s eaten, we head to the cars.
I’m so proud of us for getting here.
Not just for building the retreat or creating a space for people going through this time together as a family, but for surviving what we’ve all gone through. What we’ve lost and what we’ve built.
Today feels like an important day for us all.
I went all out. I booked us a limo.
There are too many of us to go in one car, and I thought, what the hell, let’s go in style. With the retreat driveway now paved, we won’t risk hitting the roof as the car bounces along. It will be a smooth experience.
Outside, the long black car sits at the curb, stretched out, ready. The driver steps out, complete with a cap. The kids all squeal.
“Dad! Dad! There’s a limo!” they all scream together.
I laugh. Ben turns to his children. “Antonia’s gift,” he says, nodding in my direction.
The kids run over, wrapping their arms around me. I’m swaddled in four grown bodies, jumping up and down like toddlers.
And I love it.
“Well, I thought we all had something to celebrate,” I tell him. “And I know Bex would have appreciated it.”
Liam nods. “Mum would have loved this.”
“Dad, remember the story about you and her going to the ball when you were younger? When you were first together?”
Ben glances at me. He smiles softly. Now, we love sharing stories of our pasts.
I’ve heard this one before. A story from a time gone by, from before all the heartbreak and hurt. The lost chances. When Bex and Ben were just two young people in love.
It doesn’t make me jealous, sad, or nervous. It brings joy.
I was once in love with someone else too, but that doesn’t mean I love Ben any less.
Seasons change. We lose people. Some, years before we should.
And it’s who you find to help you write the next chapter that’s important.
It doesn’t erase what you had.
That’s what I’ve learned from these past few months, from this past year, from meeting Ben.
That time gives us all different chances, and we have to grasp them when they arrive, even if it wasn’t what we planned.
We all climb into the car. Ollie and Liam wrestle over who gets the front seat.
“Do you not want to sit in the back?” Ben says. “That’s the whole point of a limo.”
“No, I want to sit up front,” Ollie says, pushing his brother out of the way.
Liam gives up. He always does. I get the impression Liam understands what’s more important in life than his brother does. But I suppose when you lose your mum, that’s understandable. Little inconveniences don’t seem so big.
Once everyone’s in and settled, we head off. The city disappears, and we fly through open countryside. Savannah sips a cool glass of champagne while Ollie talks the driver's ear off. Rose takes more selfies than an influencer, posting each one to her socials and tagging us.
Liam sits quietly. A soft smile on his lips.
And Ben just holds my hand. Nothing needs to be said. This is progress.
The black gates of the retreat sit wide open. A handful of protesters stand at the edge, a few stragglers determined to hang on to the bitter end to prove that Opengate is the wrong company to be aligned with in life. So attached to the cause, they no longer read the evidence.
Most of the negative press has died away now.
Most of the hatred’s passed.
And we’re just doing good.
That’s the truth—when someone steps out into the wild, when someone puts themselves out there and does something that people want to write about, there’s always going to be hate.
It doesn’t make it wrong.
It makes it important.
It means you’re making a change.
As we pull up in front of the main building, a large red ribbon is tied across the door. Camera set up, ready to snap the perfect shot.
I’m stepping out of the limo when Julian comes hurtling toward me.
“Isn’t it amazing, Antonia? Look what we’ve done.”
I want to tell him to shut up. This isn’t all him. He’s caused so much grief over the project. But I don’t. My comments stay buried. Today isn’t for verbal warfare. And he knows I only give him as much rope that I’m comfortable with.
Ben comes to my side and slips his hand around my waist. “Well done, Julian,” he says. “Well done for the part you played in this. For putting us on the map.”
Julian beams. He accepts the compliment without any hint of the implication underneath. His chest puffs out, and he trots away to, no doubt, seek more praise elsewhere.
“Shall we?” Ben says, offering me his arm. He leads me over to the stage. The emcee shakes our hands as we climb the stairs.
The opening will be simple. Nothing too fancy. Local press and a few dignitaries scattered around. An introduction to the reason the retreat exists, and an invitation for people to look around. What we’ve built is what is impressive. Not us.
Really, this is the end of our story. We’ve made it.
Or it’s the start of a new one.
I’m not sure.
I’m ready to begin when I look down into the crowd, and there’s someone I never expected to see.
I nudge Ben. “Look. There’s Anna Collins.”
Ben waves. She and her husband wave back.
Right at the beginning, when he emailed me that day and asked me to help get her into the clinical trial, who knew we would end up like this?
That we’d be standing here looking at a woman who’d been given weeks to live, and here she is, months later, enjoying the opening of a retreat that could help families like hers.
I have to admit, I feel damn proud.
Ben steps up to the microphone. Amy edges to the front of the crowd; Ivan links his fingers through hers as if anchoring her there. I smile, and they both beam back. It's not only me who is proud today.
“Thank you, everyone, for coming here today," Ben says. "When I came up with the idea of building this retreat, I never thought my life would change so much because of it.” He takes a breath. His jaw ticks, nervous. This means so much to him. “Not only have we gained a place for cancer patients to live more, but I’ve gained a life I never thought I deserved.”
There is a round of applause. My cheeks heat. He gives me a look that would melt ice caps.
“But the real lady of the hour is Antonia Cole. She believed in my vision. She helped me bring it to life. I’m proud to have worked with her on this project.” He passes me the scissors, ridiculously oversized. “It’s your day,” he whispers. “Cut the ribbon. Make it official.”
I take the scissors, then walk over to the red satin ribbon protecting the door. The blades slice through in one slick movement. It falls away, left hanging loose at the sides.
And there we are.
The Bex Corrigan-Jones Retreat is officially open.
We did it.
The crowd cheers, protesters silenced by the positivity. Anna Collins smiles wide.
Ben steps up beside me, slips his arm around my waist, and leads me off stage. We walk down into the throng of people, talking and shaking hands with anyone in our path.
Anna and her husband come weaving through the crowd. She pulls me into a hug, taking me by surprise.
“Ben said that you were the one who got me into the trial,” she gasps. “Thank you from me, from my family. And for everything you’re doing for people suffering just like us. You’re an angel.”
Ben squeezes my fingers, sheer pride in his eyes. “She is an angel,” he says. “And she doesn’t realize it.”