We stood there, not quite touching, and I wanted to say something. I wanted to ask him what came next, after this. Afterthe sale. After we'd paid off the bank and walked away from Route 9.
But before I could find the words, a white Range Rover pulled into the clearing.
Lucia.
Chapter 31
Olivia
The white Range Rover pulled to a stop in the gravel, and for a moment nobody moved.
Then the driver's door opened and Lucia Vance stepped out.
She looked different than the last time I'd seen her. Smaller, somehow, though that didn't make sense. She was still tall, still striking, but something had hollowed her out. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail that looked three days old. No makeup. Dark circles under her eyes that even the late afternoon light couldn't soften. She was wearing jeans and a sweater that hung loose on her frame, like she'd lost weight she couldn't afford to lose.
She stood beside her car for a moment, just looking at the house. Then her eyes found mine.
"Olivia," she said quietly.
I didn't say anything. Had no idea what to say.
Ben shifted beside me. "You want me to?—"
"No," I said.
He looked at me for a long moment, then nodded. "I'll be inside if you need me."
I watched him go, watched the door close behind him, and then turned back to face the woman my husband had been sleeping with for over a year.
She was still standing by her car, one hand resting on the door like she might need to leave quickly. The wind caught her ponytail and she pushed it back with fingers that trembled slightly. She looked at the house, then at me, then back at the house.
I wanted to tell her to leave. The words were right there, loaded and ready.You don't get to see this. You walked away. You bailed when it was hard and now you want to stand here and look at the finished thing like you earned it?
I'd earned it. I'd spent four months with paint in my hair and blisters on my hands. I'd learned the difference between a miter saw and a compound saw, between drywall mud and joint compound. I'd stood in this clearing in February cold and June heat, and I'd bled into every corner of this house.
Lucia had handed the whole mess to Ben and walked away.
And now she was here, looking at me like she expected me to understand.
"I heard it was finished," she said finally. Her voice was quiet, almost apologetic. "The photographer—she's… she’s a friend. She mentioned the staging was done." She looked up at the house. "I needed to see it."
"Why."
The word came out flat.
She was quiet for a long moment, her eyes still on the timber frame. "Because we dreamt it," she said. "Ryan and I. We found the land, we drew the plans, we—" She stopped. Swallowed. "I know I don't have a right to be here. I know I walked away. But I… I needed to see it finished."
The anger flared hot in my chest. "Youneededto see it."
"Yes."
"You left when it was hard, Lucia. You bailed on the debt, on the work, on all of it. Ben had to step in and save both of us. And now you want to come back and look at it like you had something to do with this?"
She flinched but didn't look away from the house. "I know."
"Do you?" My voice was rising now. "Do you know what the last four months have been like? Do you know what it took to finish this?"
"No." She finally looked at me, and her eyes were wet. "I don't. And I'm sorry. I’m so sorry, Olivia."
