And with that, she turned. With Lily’s small body held close, she made herself walk.
Down the stairs.
Through the hall.
Out into the fading daylight.
She walked home as though everything were perfectly ordinary, whispering lies to herself with every step. That she was fine. That tomorrow would come. That whatever truth William Ashford thought to deliver changed nothing. His wife could keep him. Good riddance.
She might come apart with every breath—but she would not let herself break.
Not for him.
Not twice.
Chapter Thirty-One
The door closed behind her with a soft click.
It might as well have been a cannon blast.
William didn’t sit so much as fold, his knees giving way as he dropped onto the chaise. He stared at the door she’d walked through, as though sheer will could pull her back. His breath came shallow and uneven. His hands lay open in his lap, fingers slack, as if even the strength to close them had deserted him.
My child.
She had said it without hesitation, drawing a line so sharp it might as well have been a knife.
Notours.
Hers alone.
Her voice still hung in the air, cold and unwavering, thick with a grief he had caused and had no right to witness.
He pressed a palm to his mouth, trying to hold back the sound threatening to break free.
God help him.
He had not understood.
Not truly.
Not until he saw Lily—
and the horror in Violet’s eyes when she realized he had seen her.
And now—after hearing her speak the truth aloud, and his mother’s confession unraveling the rest—the magnitude of his choices settled over him with merciless clarity.
Five years.
Five years she had carried the weight alone.
Five years she had borne the shame he left her with.
And for five years, she had raised their daughter with no one but herself to shield her.
There was not a single corner of his past he could look at now without seeing the damage he’d left behind.
Because he had chosen his title over the girl he loved.
