Chapter 5: The Goodbye That Hurts

Half a month later, Chris came back to Maple Heights.

I put on my flashiest dress, hair full of jeweled pins. Remembering David’s look of horror at my style, I took a few out.

Just as I was about to head to the hospital, my crush showed up at the door.

Chris looked even more tanned, and—get this—actually wore a shirt that looked ironed. At the gate, he nodded politely. “Miss Mason, could I see Mr. Whitlock?”

What?

Could it be… they really are together?

Fuming, I stomped to the study. David, if you’re gutsy enough to steal my man, open this door!

David took his sweet time finishing paperwork, straightening his tie, and only after a good ten minutes did he let Chris in.

The two of them talked privately for half an hour while I paced outside, losing my mind.

Two guys who could kill a conversation in minutes—what could they possibly discuss for that long? Must be true love.

When the door finally opened, they came out side by side, their auras matching—even their grumpy faces were in sync.

Chris walked right past me. I tried to stop him, but David’s icy glare glued me in place.

At the gate, Chris stopped and looked back at me. Was that a soft look? Or was I just dreaming?

His voice was deep and clear. “Miss Mason, next month I’ll be heading south to work with some master physicians. Would you like to come with me?”

I—I must be dreaming. I pinched myself hard. Ow.

Fireworks exploded in my brain.

Just as the sparks faded, David coldly ordered the housekeeper, “Lock her up.”

I demanded to know when I’d be let out. He said, “When Chris leaves Maple Heights.”

I tried picking locks and sneaking out, but he had guards everywhere.

I argued with him—he just stared at me, unmoved.

I cried, threw tantrums, even threatened to run away. He took away all sharp objects and rope, totally unfazed.

I’m usually a wimp, but I decided to go for broke. Hunger strike.

David sent me all my favorite foods—mac and cheese, roast chicken, apple pie. He knew exactly how to get to me. I swear, the man’s a mind reader. My mouth watered, but I held out.

By day two, I was dizzy with hunger, counting the hours, waiting for him to give in.

He showed up with a bowl of chicken noodle soup. I hid under the covers, ignoring him.

He sat by my bed in silence for ages, then finally sighed.

“Drink the soup, then go.”

I shot up, all pretense gone, and gulped down the soup.

It was warm—I’d been craving it since he walked in. Hunger strikes are just dumb.

He looked exhausted, staring at the maple leaf on his shirt. I noticed a little burn on his finger from the soup bowl. He never complains.

I handed him the empty bowl, and he pulled out a slip of paper—my guardianship papers.

He leaned over, held it to the lamp, and burned it. The fire danced in his eyes.

The flames licked his fingers before he jerked his hand away.

“Does it hurt?”

He nodded.

My heart squeezed. David’s like a block of hardwood—never admits to pain.

Five days later, in a light drizzle, I left Maple Heights with Chris. David had prepared everything for my trip, silently holding Ben’s hand as he saw me to the gate.

I hoisted my bag. David patted Ben’s shoulder and pointed at me. The little guy shuffled over, dazed, and I hugged him tight.

I waved goodbye. David nodded, just barely.

He didn’t say a word to me that day.

I walked through the misty spring rain, side by side with Chris.

At the end of the driveway, I looked back—David stood alone, one hand holding Ben, the other braced on the gatepost.

So thin, so alone.

I couldn’t help but stop.

Chris’s eyes were deep. “Let’s go, Miss Mason.”

“You’ll come back.”

And the rain kept falling, blurring the old house behind us, as if the past was finally letting go—just a little.