Page 27 of The House That Held Her

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I barely register Shannon’s frantic voice, her words warping and muffling as though they’re coming from somewhere underwater. Everything slows to a dreadful crawl. Nate’s left hand lies only inches away—his wedding ring catching the faint light. I can’t reconcile what I’m seeing with reality. The air around me thickens, colors blur into each other, and the world wavers at the edges. My focus tunnels, collapsing inward, darkness nibbling at my vision. I keep telling myself: It can’t be Nate. It can’t be him in that bathtub.

Yet, here he is—or what’s left of him. My Nate. My mind reels at the impossibility, the horror. I reach out, my fingers trembling like leaves in a storm, and touch his palm. It’s still warm. Tears spill unchecked down my cheeks, each drop splattering on the dingy floor.

Somewhere behind me, Shannon’s voice slices through the haze, snapping against my consciousness like a whip. “Margot! We have to go. They could come back. Margot, please—get up!”

Her urgency barely penetrates the thick grief that has crashed over me, heavy and unrelenting. My knees feel fused to the floor. How can I possibly leave him here? None of this was supposed to happen. Nate should be in DC, miles away, doing…anything besides lying here, soaked in blood. We were supposed to fight and scream and then reconcile. We were supposed to grow old together.

Shannon latches onto my arm, desperation fueling her strength. She tugs, shakes, pleads—each pull yanking me back from the black pit threatening to consume me. My body responds automatically, though I feel hollow inside. My legs lock and unlock, stumbling in a mechanical march up the stairs as Shannon sobs, half-leading, half-dragging me forward.

“We have to go,” she begs, her voice raw, cracking on every word. “Please, Margot. I know you’re in shock, but we have to move. Now!”

My brain is stuck on a loop, replaying images that layer over each step. Nate smiling on our wedding day, his arm around my waist, whispering, “I’ve got you,” against my ear as we danced. My foot lifts onto a stair. I remember the first night in our new home, the comforting weight of his hand on my back, his fingertips making soothing circles. Another step. Then the promise we made: no matter how bad life got, we’d stand by each other.

Somehow, Shannon gets me through the hallway, guiding me with single-syllable commands. “Door. There. Go. Keep walking.” Her voice wavers, on the edge of panic. “Just a little further, Margot. Come on.”

We burst outside into the grove, the tree silhouettes twisting in the darkness. My vision swims in and out, but I feel Shannon pause beside me, panting, tears streaking the grime on her face.

“I don’t know if I can leave you here,” she whispers, voice trembling. “Should I run ahead, get the car? But I can’t just?—”

She’s looking at me, expecting something, some response, but I’ve got nothing. The world has drained of meaning. I’m a shell, sleepwalking through a nightmare.

Shannon steels herself and loops an arm around my waist, half-carrying me through the blackness. Branches whip at our legs, and my foot catches on tree roots, but she keeps going, one dogged step after another. There’s a fierceness in her grip—a raw determination that feels like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.

Finally, we break free from the grove and stumble toward Hawthorn Manor. Its dark shape looms, a silent witness to everything that’s happened. I can’t bring myself to speak. I can’t bring myself to feel anything at all.

Shannon pushes open the door, guiding me inside. The overhead lights glare down, brutally ordinary against the horror we’ve just left behind. She guides me into the living room, to the sofa. I sink onto the cushions, noticing Nate’s blood smeared across my palms. My stomach twists; I want to scream, but no sound escapes.

All I can think is: Nate is dead. He was supposed to be safe, far away, alive. Now there’s blood on my hands—his blood. My eyes flick to Shannon. She’s trembling, her shirt soaked with tears, and guilt crashes down on me. Why am I still breathing? Why do I get to exist while he’s?—?

A surge of hatred for this house grips me. This goddamn place that’s seen so much violence, so much pain. I hate it for bearing witness, for standing here unchanged when everything else is ruined.

My head feels like it’s splitting open. I shut my eyes tight, trying to slow time, to shrink the crushing tide of grief. Nate’s face flips to another memory: a battered young girl huddled in the corner of a locked bedroom. Bruises, scratches, helpless tears. Lila is another one of the many victims of my inability to protect anyone I love.

It’s too much. My chest constricts; my vision darkens. I let out a ragged exhale and feel myself slip off the couch, my legs giving way beneath me. Shannon’s voice warps, fading to a distant hum.

And the last coherent thought crashing through my mind is one simple, harrowing truth: They would all be better off if I had never existed.