Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Before I can process her words, Jason, my five-year-old son, squeezes through, a small, trembling figure, his face blotchy, and his eyes are red and swollen from crying.
"What's wrong, buddy?" I ask.
Lisa pulls back and Sara sails in, her smile bright, almost blinding, her blonde hair swept back in a perfect wave, her hand rests lightly on Jason’s shoulder.
“Surprise!” she chirps, her voice too cheerful for the chaos swirling in my head.
My jaw is clenched so tight, the muscles ache. Sara never comes to my office. She knows the boundaries we’ve carved out, unspoken but ironclad: she manages the house, raises Jason, keeps our life running smoothly, and leaves my workplace untouched. It’s why I chose her—no demands, no mess, just a quiet partnership that doesn’t ask for my heart. This is a crack in the careful distance we’ve perfected over the years.
“Is there a problem?” My eyes return to Jason’s tear-streaked face.
“Jason is fine. Just a little tantrum over what to wear. We were on our way to lunch,” she says, undeterred, her voice light as she smooths Jason’s hair, her fingers gentle and loving. “As we were passing by, I thought we’d say hi. And maybe… we could all eat together. Burgers and fries at Friedmans?” Her smile doesn’t waver, but there’s an edge to it, a hint of expectation that feels like a trespass.
I stare at her. Normally, I’d nod to keep things civil, but the card’s shadow looms, Amelia’s pain a dark tide pulling me under. Lunch with anyone, let alone Sara with her probing, inquisitive eyes, is something I cannot stomach right now, and I instantly refuse.
“I would’ve joined you both,” I say, my voice tight, the words clipped as I force them out, “but I can’t. I just received some bad news.”
Sara’s eyes go wide, her hand freezing on Jason’s shoulder, worry creasing her perfect face. “Oh my God, what happened?” Her voice is soft, urgent, and searching my expression for something I’m not ready to give.
“My father died.” The words are like stones in my mouth. They come out sounding flat and empty. It is a fact that means nothing to me. John Fitzwilliam was never a father, just a man who claimed me to control me, then shoved a check in my face and sent me packing.
Sara’s eyes widen, and her lips form an O shape. I can see her scrambling for the right response. She knows I’m not close with him. I have mentioned him only once when we first started dating. A brief slip I have never repeated. I didn’t invite him to our wedding. When she pressed gently, I shut the idea down hard. He'd never been anything but a ghost in my life, and I wanted it to stay that way.
“I’m so sorry, Max. That’s… awful,” she says, her tone cautious. She steps closer, and Jason’s small hand is still in hers. My son’s red-rimmed eyes watch me like I’m a stranger.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “I’ll be going to the funeral.”
Sara nods, too fast, her smile softening into something sympathetic. “Yes, yes, I completely understand. You must pay your last respects.” She hesitates, then steps closer, her hand brushing Jason’s hair again. “I could come with you. I’m available, and it might—”
“No,” I cut her off, sharper than I meant to, my hand slashing through the air. Even the idea of Sara there, in that house, near Amelia, makes my skin crawl. This is mine—my pain, my past, my… whatever Amelia is to me now. I can’t let Sara touch it. I force myself to smile. “Thank you for the support. I appreciate it, but as you know, I was not close to him, and I don’t plan to stay long. You stay with Jason. He needs you more.” My tone is final, an unscalable wall.
Sara blinks, her smile falters, but only for a split second. Then she recovers and nods. “Alright.” Her voice is soft, accommodating, the way it always is. She gives Jason’s shoulder a gentle squeeze as her gaze lingers on me, searching for something I won’t give. “It’s your decision, of course, but it’s wrong to deprive Jason of the right to meet his only aunt and say a final goodbye to his grandfather.”
She turns and guides our son toward the door, her heels clicking softly on the polished floor. The door shuts noiselessly behind them, and I’m alone again, staring at the empty space where they stood.
Chapter
Four
AMELIA
The world fades into a surreal blur as I watch my father’s coffin sink into the earth.
Goodbye Daddy.
The polished mahogany catches the gray light before disappearing beneath the soil. My heart cracks open, and a fresh wave of grief slices through me. He’s gone. He’s really gone.
Mrs. Langley, an old family friend, wraps her arms around me, her perfume so dear and familiar. “It’s alright, dear,” she murmurs.