“Maybe we should talk to a child psychologist,” Seraphina suggests. “Someone who can help us find the right words.”
“You’re right,” Elliot replies. “I don’t want them to think this is their fault. They’re just kids.”
Seraphina feels a strange sensation, as if they’ve managed to salvage something valuable from the ruins. Not the marriage—that’s over for good. But mutual respect, and perhaps the foundation of a future friendship built on honesty.
“I think we can do it. For everyone’s sake.”
“I think so too.”
They look at each other for a few long seconds. Entire years seem to condense into that moment.
Finally, Elliot slowly stands up.
“You’d better pack your things. I don’t want to drag this out any longer than necessary.”
Seraphina nods and slowly climbs the stairs, feeling each step like a goodbye. Her old bedroom is practically unchanged, with the same bedspread and the same elegant furniture, but it no longer belongs to her. She carefully opens a drawer and gathers some important personal documents, a watch inherited from her father that has always brought back childhood memories, a small album filled with photographs of Oliver and Ivy as babies, and a wooden figurine that Ivy gave her on Mother’s Day when she was three, with a childish dedication clumsily carved into it.
When she comes back downstairs, Elliot is waiting for her by the front door, his hands in his pockets.
“Take care of yourself, Seraphina. Really.”
She holds his gaze steadily.
“You too, Elliot.”
For a moment, they hesitate, as if a part of them still remembers the good times. Then they embrace in a simple, extraordinarily simple hug. And perhaps that is why it feels so important. Because it doesn’t symbolize defeat, but transition—a clean and respectful ending.
Seraphina steps out onto the porch and looks up at the Manchester sky, covered in low clouds. She turns one last time. Elliot is still standing in the doorway, giving her a slight nod.
Then she leaves.
She settles behind the wheel, places the photo album on the passenger seat, and remains motionless for a few seconds, thinking about the future and breathing a little more freely.
Chapter 27
The rain is no longer the top story in Manchester’s tabloids, nor is the scandal that for months fueled local gossip and high-society circles. For weeks on end, the printing presses churned out their names at the same pace the city usually devours other people’s tragedies, only to bury them shortly afterward beneath the cloak of oblivion and the next big story. Now, with the storm having passed, there is no trace left of that public morbid fascination; only the structural consequences of the demolition and the lives of the two women who managed to survive the impact remain.
From the far end of the kitchen, Nerissa Ashcombe silently watches Seraphina as she finishes making the morning coffee.
Seraphina is wearing a white linen shirt, its sleeves carelessly rolled up to her elbows, and she balances a pair of reading glasses on the bridge of her nose as she calmly reviews some documents spread across the dining table. Nerissa smiles unconsciously, leaning her weight against the kitchen cabinet as the steam from the coffee maker begins to fill the room with a rich, comforting aroma.
“Staring at me again?” Seraphina remarks without looking up from the papers, though a subtle hint of amusement curves the corners of her lips.
Nerissa raises an eyebrow playfully, takes two steps forward carrying the hot cups, and sets one of them right beside her partner’s hand.
“And I’m supposed to apologize for that?” the surgeon retorts, taking a seat in the chair next to her. “I consider it my absolute right to examine the effects of morning coffee on my favorite patient.”
Nerissa takes a sip from her cup, savoring the coffee’s bitterness.
“How was yesterday’s meeting?” she asks with genuine interest.
“It was extremely boring, tedious, and predictable,” Seraphina states.
“That, in the language of ordinary mortals, means it went like a charm,” Nerissa deduces.
“Exactly.”
The small firm where Seraphina currently works occupies just two discreet, modest floors in a building in downtown Manchester; however, when she returns home at dusk, that sense of freedom and peace of mind is worth far more than anything else.
