Chapter 20 Anything Else?
Maggie shifted the weight of her luggage in her hands, her shoulder nudging the massive front door as she tried to push it open.
The door gave way.
She froze.
“…It’s not locked,” she whispered, brows knitting together. “Why would anyone leave a house like this unlocked?”
She stepped inside slowly.
The door shut behind her with a soft, final thud.
Her bags slipped from her hands and hit the polished marble floor with a muted sound.
Her lips parted.
“…Wow.”
Her head tilted back slowly, eyes tracing the massive chandelier hanging overhead.
“Oh my God,” she whispered again, her voice trembling. “This is… this is insane.”
She turned in a slow circle.
Glass walls. Sculpted staircases. Gold-accented railings.
“We’re fucking rich,” she muttered under her breath— repeating those same words again, a breathless laugh escaping her. “Like… ridiculously rich.”
She took a hesitant step forward, then another.
“Andrew,” she whispered, shaking her head slightly. “What the hell do we do?”
Her fingers brushed against a glossy console table.
“This place doesn’t even feel real,” she murmured.
She wandered into the first room to her left and stopped abruptly.
“…What?”
Her eyes widened.
Paintings— dozens of them— lined the walls. Some framed in gold. Others encased in glass. Sculptures stood on pedestals like silent sentinels.
“No way,” she whispered. “These are… these are real.”
She stepped closer.
“This one,” she said quietly, leaning in. “What kind of artwork is this?” She marveled aloud.
Her fingers hovered, trembling, before gently brushing the edge of a frame.
“Didn’t know you liked art, Andrew,” she whispered. “Or maybe I did… and just forgot.”
She swallowed.
“Did I stand in this room before?” she asked herself softly. “Did I bring guests in here? Did I explain these pieces like I actually knew what I was talking about?”
Her chest tightened.
She pulled her hand back slowly and stepped away.
“Okay,” she whispered, forcing a breath. “One room at a time.”
She moved on.
A game room.
“…Of course,” she muttered. “Pool table. Arcade machines. A bar.”
She laughed quietly.
“Who even are we?”
The back doors.
A pool.
Her breath caught.
“…This looks like... Wow. Just wow."
She stepped back inside, heart pounding, overwhelmed.
The basement.
A fully furnished underground lounge.
“Oh come on,” she breathed. “This is ridiculous.”
She rubbed her temple.
“I should be excited,” she whispered. “So why do I feel like I’m trespassing in my own life?”
She wandered back upstairs, slower now.
The hallway stretched before her, doors lining both sides.
She stopped at the first one and pushed it open.
Her chest tightened instantly.
“…This is a kid’s room.”
She stepped inside.
The bed. The shelves. The toys.
Her eyes landed on the nightstand.
A picture frame.
She picked it up carefully.
Her breath caught sharply.
“…My son.”
Her voice cracked.
“My boy,” she whispered, her thumb brushing over the glass. “That’s my baby.”
Her lips trembled.
“Oh God,” she breathed. “I don’t remember you. I don’t remember holding you. I don’t remember your first word.”
Tears welled in her eyes.
“But I know this,” she whispered, pressing the frame lightly to her chest. “I know I love you.”
She sniffed, wiped her cheek quickly.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to the picture. “I’m so sorry.”
She placed the frame back exactly where she found it.
“One day,” she said softly. “I’ll remember you again.”
She stepped out and closed the door gently.
The next door loomed larger.
She hesitated.
“…This must be ours.”
She pushed it open.
Her breath left her lungs.
“Oh.”
The master bedroom stretched before her— elegant, massive, intimate.
“Our room,” she whispered.
She walked in slowly, shoes forgotten, and sat down on the edge of the king-sized bed.
The mattress dipped beneath her weight.
“…This bed,” she whispered. “It feels familiar.”
She leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
“I slept here,” she murmured. “I laughed here. I fought here.”
She turned her head.
A frame on the nightstand.
She reached for it.
Her fingers shook.
It was the three of them.
Her. Andrew. Pete.
All smiling.
Her breath broke.
“Oh,” she whispered.
Her vision blurred.
“This was us,” she said, voice cracking. “We looked… happy.”
A tear slipped down her cheek.
Then another.
“I don’t remember loving you,” she whispered. “But I know I must have.”
Her shoulders shook.
She wiped her face roughly.
“No,” she breathed. “No, don’t break down now.”
She grabbed her phone with trembling hands and dialed Andrew’s number.
The line rang.
Then connected.
“You didn’t tell me we were fucking rich,” Maggie said immediately, her voice shaky but trying to sound light.
A pause.
“Is that why you called?” Andrew replied flatly.
She swallowed.
“I called to tell you I’m back home,” she said quickly. “Before you hang up.”
“Good,” Andrew said.
Silence.
She waited.
“…Anything else?” he asked.