Page 32 of Yours Always (The Enduring Hearts #1)

His head throbbed with exhaustion, each heartbeat a dull hammer behind his eyes.

His limbs ached with the chill that had sunk deep into his bones.

But nothing compared to the weight pressing against his chest. He couldn’t stop replaying the events of that morning.

Sarah’s face when the words finally sank in.

The way she looked at him, eyes wide and uncomprehending, as if she might still will the truth away.

The echo of her voice when she realized Benjamin wasn’t coming home.

Every syllable, every second haunted him.

He drew in a ragged breath and pressed a trembling fist to his chest, fingers curled as if he could hold something together that was already breaking apart inside him. His lungs burned, and still he couldn’t breathe properly. The room was too quiet. Too still.

Matthew’s fingers ached from how tightly he clutched the necklace in his hand.

The silver chain tangled in his palm, the delicate pendant biting against his skin.

It was the same one they had seen in the shops months ago.

A single sapphire, deep as dusk, encircled by tiny stars etched into the silver.

A constellation frozen in time. It had been Benjamin’s surprise for Grace.

A promise of forever, wrapped in starlight.

Now it was just one more beautiful thing left behind.

A soft knock sounded at the door, but he made no move to open it. It was probably Maria or one of the other maids checking to see if he needed anything, but he couldn’t bear it. Not the kindness. Not the quiet sympathy in their eyes. Not the unbearable weight of being seen.

He waited until the footsteps faded down the corridor, then pushed himself up from the bed, his body heavy and hollow.

Moving without thought, he slipped into the hallway, guided only by instinct.

He walked down the stairs, toward the back of the house and the kitchens.

Maybe he could sit and sip a cup of tea.

Maybe he could pretend, for just a moment, that the world had not come undone.

As he reached the bottom step, something stilled him; a flicker of firelight, too soft, and too peaceful for a night like this.

He turned, and there she was. Sarah sat curled in a chair beside the hearth, her frame wrapped in a thick wool blanket.

Her knees were drawn close beneath her chin, as though she might disappear entirely if she folded small enough.

The firelight danced across her skin, amber and gold, shadow and glow, illuminating the sharp lines of her cheekbones and the soft curve of her jaw.

She looked smaller than he remembered. Her eyes, always so fierce and clever eyes, were distant now.

She didn’t hear him. Or if she did, she gave no sign.

He stood in the doorway, frozen somewhere between longing and dread.

He hadn’t meant to find her, but perhaps he knew he always would.

That even in his ruin, some part of him would always seek her.

Then, slowly, like some invisible thread had tugged gently at the corner of her heart, Sarah looked up and their eyes met.

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Sarah pulled the wool blanket tighter around her shoulders, but the chill inside her refused to lift. Benjamin was dead.

Part of her wanted to shatter into a thousand irreparable pieces.

The other part still couldn’t accept it.

Any moment now, he would come bounding through the doorway, arms overflowing with gifts, grinning like a fool, his laughter echoing through the halls like it always had.

They’d all laugh, feast and have the merriest Christmas of all. But he didn’t come.

The fire crackled in the hearth, its light casting flickering gold against the walls, but the warmth barely touched her. The world had tilted, broken, and she sat unmoving in the wreckage. Her hands were clenched beneath the blanket, breath shallow, and body numb with disbelief.

She felt it before she saw him. A quiet shift in the air. She looked up and Matthew stood in the doorway, the shadows behind him clinging to his frame. His eyes found hers, just like they always had.

“Liz...” he breathed. He stepped into the room, moving as if he feared waking ghosts, each stride slow and measured.

He crossed to her chair and knelt, his eyes never leaving hers.

He looked completely undone. His eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with exhaustion.

His skin was pale and drawn. His clothes still damp at the hems, stubble lined his jaw, and his hair had long since lost its shape.

But it wasn’t weariness that shook her. It was the look in his eyes.

Raw. Unarmored. Devastated. It twisted something inside her. What if it had been him?

What if she had let him leave, angry, aching, unresolved, without ever saying she was sorry? The thought struck like a blow. A sob caught in her throat, and then the tears came. Hot, fast and relentless. She didn’t speak, but she didn’t need to.

Without a word, Matthew reached for her.

He rose just enough to sit in the chair and pulled her into his lap, gathering her close with the instinct of someone who had done it a thousand times, but this time was different.

This time, she felt everything. The way his fingers threaded through her hair with aching tenderness.

The steady pressure of his hand against her back, grounding her.

The soft, uneven rhythm of his breath as it ghosted along her cheek, shaky, and struggling to hold.

She folded into him and her head found the familiar place against his chest close to his heartbeat, and she wept as he held her.

“I’m so sorry, Lizzy...” he whispered, voice thick, rough with the weight of his own breaking.

He pressed a kiss to her temple, and his lips lingered longer than they should have, as if he believed, even for a moment, that he could hold the world together with the shape of his mouth against her skin. “I couldn’t save him.”

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He knew he needed to let her go. He shouldn’t have held her in the first place, but she had looked so broken that he hadn’t been able to turn away.

When she crumbled in his arms, when the grief finally spilled out in quiet, racking sobs, all he’d known to do was what he’d always done.

Hold her. Steady her. Be her anchor in the storm.

He had kissed her forehead, gently, instinctively, the way he had when scraped knees or summer thunderstorms once sent her running to him in tears. Everything in him screamed to walk away. She was marrying the Duke. But she didn’t move, so he let her stay.

She remained curled against him, her breath warming the front of his shirt, her heartbeat fluttering near his own. Slowly, she lifted her head, turning toward him. The tears had stopped, but her eyes still shimmered glassy, bright, and swollen with all the ones she hadn’t yet let fall.

“I couldn’t cry,” she said softly, her voice barely reaching the space between them.

“I came down here to look at the decorations, and to think about Christmas without him, and I just couldn’t make the tears come.

” Matthew nodded, the ache in his chest deepening like a bruise.

He knew that numbness, the hollow ache when grief hadn’t yet found its voice.

It hadn’t come for him either, until he’d pictured her standing in the hall, asking where her brother was.

Her voice broke. A single tear slipped down her cheek.

“And then you walked into the room...” Matthew’s chest tightened.

He couldn’t bear the look in her eyes. “I can go,” he murmured, the words tugged from his throat, guilt threading through them.

“If seeing me is too hard, I can go.” He loosened his hold around her waist, bracing for the moment to end, for her to pull away and remind him of where they stood, but she didn’t. Instead, she leaned in closer.

Her voice came out with a trembling breath. “Matty... when I saw you, it made me realize that it could have just as easily been you…” Matthew’s heart stopped. How many times had he had that same thought? It should have been him.

Sarah looked up at him, her expression bare and trembling. “...and I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.” Her words unlocked something in him that he thought he’d finally buried for good. Matthew didn’t think. He didn’t breathe. He simply moved.

His arm slipped back around her waist, his other hand rising to cradle the back of her head, gently, steadying her.

He leaned forward, slowly, afraid to move too fast, afraid to break whatever fragile, aching thing this moment had become.

He felt her breath catch. He heard the soft, startled sound she made as their lips met.

Her scent wrapped around him; peppermint, hearth smoke, and something warm, clean and wholly her. The taste of her kiss chased every thought from his mind. It was dizzying. Devastating. Beautiful.

He pulled back just enough for his forehead to rest against hers. Their breaths mingled in the stillness. His chest rose and fell against hers, drawn together like waves pulled by the same tide. “I am so sorry,” he said hoarsely. “Lizzy, I shouldn’t have—”

Her hand slid up the back of his neck, and before he could finish the apology he didn’t mean, her mouth found his again.

This time, it wasn’t soft. It was fire. Breathless need, aching want, and years of confusion and silence unraveling in a kiss that left him undone.

He kissed her like it was the only moment he’d ever be allowed to.

Because he believed it was. He couldn’t pull her close enough.

He couldn’t separate his heartbreak from hers.

And then, just as suddenly as it began—she was gone.

Matthew blinked, and she was already across the room, slipping through the door. Her silhouette vanished down the corridor like a dream pulled from his hands. Matthew remained where she left him, motionless in the chair, chest heaving, hands still curled around the memory of her.