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CHAPTER 21

C hapter 21

Two days later, Tessa arrived at The Red Lion early, Sebastian’s kiss still warm in her memory and Rebecca Williams’ story burning in her thoughts. She’d barely slept, mind racing between the joy of their evening and the significance of what they’d discovered.

She unlocked the pub’s front door as pale November sunlight filtered through the morning mist. The building felt different today—expectant, as if it too sensed that something important was about to happen.

“Morning, Will,” she said softly, switching on the lights. “I have something rather important to tell you, actually.”

The temperature dropped immediately, but not with the sharp urgency she’d grown accustomed to. This felt different—anticipatory, almost hopeful. Like he was holding his breath.

Tessa settled at the corner table where she and Sebastian had sat the night before, Rebecca’s photocopied account spread before her. Her hands trembled slightly as she smoothed the pages.

What if this doesn’t mean what we think it means? What if I’m about to disappoint a ghost who’s been waiting eighty years?

“Sebastian found her, Will. Rebecca Williams.” Tessa’s voice carried across the empty pub. “She wrote about you. She actually wrote about you.”

A single glass on the bar shelf chimed—tentative, questioning.

“She remembered,” Tessa added softly. “After all these years, she remembered.”

Every piece of glassware in the pub responded at once—not crashing or violent, but a crystalline symphony that seemed to rise from the building’s very bones. The sound was so beautiful it brought tears to Tessa’s eyes.

He’s been waiting to hear those words for eight decades.

“Should I read it to you?” she asked, though the sudden warmth in the room felt like the most enthusiastic yes she’d ever received.

Tessa cleared her throat, surprised by how nervous she felt. This wasn’t just reading—this was delivering a message that had taken eighty years to arrive.

“I had known William for only three months when the bombs began falling on London...”

As she read, the air grew thick with presence. The candle on the mantelpiece flickered to life, then another on a corner table, then the emergency candle behind the bar. Not all at once, but like stars appearing at twilight—one, then another, then several more.

“He worked at The Red Lion pub as a cellarman, always smiling despite the long hours. We would walk together on his evenings off, talking about what we might do when the war ended...”

A photograph on the mantelpiece shifted—not the wartime one she expected, but a smaller frame containing pressed flowers. Autumn leaves and wheat, the kind a young man might have picked for someone special.

“The night of September 7th, I was staying with my aunt in Hampstead. William was working late at the pub. I never saw him again...”

The temperature fluctuated—colder, then warmer, as if Will was struggling with the pain of remembering. Tessa paused, looking up from the pages.

“It’s all right,” she said gently. “She didn’t forget you. Keep listening.”

“But I have never stopped looking for his face in crowds, never stopped wondering what became of the gentle man who made me believe in tomorrow even when the world was ending around us.”

The warmth that flooded the room was unlike anything Tessa had experienced. Not the desperate cold of a demanding spirit, but something that felt like...gratitude. Pure, overwhelming gratitude.

More candles lit around the pub—not dramatically, but with the gentle persistence of someone lighting lamps to welcome home a long-lost friend. The golden glow transformed the weathered wood and worn brass into something almost sacred.

“There’s more,” Tessa said, consulting Sebastian’s notes. Her voice was thick with emotion now. “Rebecca married a good man named Thomas Williams in 1952. She had three children.”

She paused, savoring the moment. This was the part that would matter most.

“Her eldest son was named William.”

The photograph with pressed flowers moved again, this time sliding closer to the largest candle. In the golden light, Tessa could see the flowers more clearly—autumn berries, wheat stalks, and what looked like a small sprig of rosemary. For remembrance.

Did Will pick these for Rebecca? Has this frame been here all along, and I never noticed?

“She named her son after you,” Tessa whispered. “William Williams. He became a teacher, married a lovely woman named Margaret, had children of his own. Your name lives on, Will. You weren’t forgotten.”

The pub fell completely silent except for the gentle crackle of candle flames. But the silence wasn’t empty—it was full, heavy with presence and peace and something that felt like a soul finally breathing freely after holding its breath for decades.

Tessa sat in that golden quiet, tears streaming down her cheeks. Not tears of sadness, but of overwhelming joy for a story that had finally found its ending.

“You were loved,” she said simply. “You mattered. And someone spent the rest of her life remembering you.”

A gentle breeze stirred through the room—impossible, since all the windows were closed—lifting a few loose pages from the table and settling them back down like invisible hands carefully arranging precious documents.

Thank you. The words didn’t come as sound but as warmth, as the feeling of being embraced by someone grateful beyond measure.

Tessa laughed through her tears, pressing her hand to her heart. “You’re welcome. God, Will, you’re so welcome.”

Her phone buzzed with a text from Alice: How are you feeling this morning? Harry said you and Sebastian seemed happy last night.

Still smiling, Tessa typed back: We found Rebecca Williams. Will knows he was remembered and loved. I think...I think he’s finally at peace.

Alice’s response came quickly: That’s beautiful, Tessa. Some spirits just need to know their story mattered.

It did matter, Tessa replied, looking around at the candlelit pub. All of it mattered.

She gathered Rebecca’s pages carefully, but her mind was already moving forward. Will’s peace felt like a gift, like a benediction on what was possible when people chose to remember, to care, to fight for love even when it seemed impossible.

And Sebastian—Sebastian who’d spent hours in dusty archives searching for a woman whose name he didn’t even know, just to help a ghost find peace. Sebastian who’d looked at her last night like she was the answer to questions he’d been asking his whole life.

Maybe it’s time to stop being afraid of hope.

The morning sun grew stronger outside, burning away the mist and revealing a crisp, clear day. Tessa hummed as she moved around the pub, Will’s contentment settling into the very walls like a blessing.

For the first time in months, everything felt possible.

Miles away, in a gleaming office tower, Victor Thornton was spreading documents across Sebastian Westfield’s desk.