Page 129 of What You left in Me

“Did he say where he’s going?” I ask too fast.

“No.” Richard leans back, studying me. “You two… things are complicated, aren’t they?”

That’s putting it mildly. “You could say that.”

He smiles faintly. “I know more than you think, Ariane.”

My pulse stutters. “About what?”

He doesn’t answer. Just sighs, eyes soft. “He’s a difficult man. But he’s been good to me. Don’t hate him too easily.”

The words hit like a slap. “I don’t—” My throat goes dry. “I don’t hate him.”

How could I hate him? He’s probably the one who hates me.

“Good.” His smile is sad. “Hate’s too heavy to carry.”

After that, we go back to sorting papers, the silence suddenly full of things neither of us dare to say.

By evening, I can’t stand being inside anymore. The walls feel like they were closing in. I step out onto the back porch, breathing in the faint smell of rain and lake water. The hydrangeas Mom planted last spring have starting to wilt, their petals bruising and curling inward. She used to fuss over them like they were proof of her perfection. Now, they just looked abandoned.

I sit on the steps, staring at the water until Julia appears behind me, hands clasped in that nervous way she has. “You should come inside, Miss Ariane. It’s getting late.”

“I will,” I say, but don’t move.

She hesitates, then adds softly, “He asked about you.”

My head snaps up. “Finn?”

She nods. “Said to make sure you’re eating.”

Of course he did. I laugh, small and almost shy . “He burns my world down and still worries if I’ve had lunch.”

Julia gives me a confused little smile, not sure if I’m joking. “He’s not like your mother, you know,” she says finally.

I know what she means by that. He’s not a murderer, which is the worst thing you could possibly be.

“No,” I agree quietly. “He’s nothing like her. He’s better. Which makes it harder.”

She nods and slips back inside, leaving me alone with the night. I stay there until the moon comes up, the water gleaming like smooth metal. Somewhere out there, I imagine Mom— a train station, a hotel, a bottle of wine and no conscience left to drink it with. Maybe she’s fine. Maybe she’s not. I’m not sure which I’d prefer.

Eventually, the cold gets to me, forcing me to go back inside. The house is dark, the kind of dark that feels like it’s listening. I walk down the hallway, past Richard’s room, past the study. My steps slow near the end — nearhisdoor.

Finn’s room.

The wood looks darker in the half-light. I stand there, one hand hovering above the handle. I can almost feel him on the other side — restless, dangerous, familiar. I want to knock. God, I want to knock.But what would I say?That I was acting up because it was a way for me to stall acknowledging the truth. How do I even act in front of him now? Knowing what my mother has done to his? How do you move on from something like this?

My fingers brush the door. My chest aches with regret because he didn’t deserve losing his mom.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. My voice cracks. “I’m so sorry.”

The words hang there, fragile and true. I press my palm flat against the door, feeling the faint warmth of the wood.

Then, I turn away, leaving the house to its ghosts, the mother who left, the man who destroyed everything to save it, and the girl still figuring out who she is in the ruins.

The house feels hollow now, but not empty.

Chapter 39 – Finn – Fire & Forgiveness