With a loud creak, the door to Dr. West's office swung open, breaking the sterile silence and foreshadowing the pain to come. William Jackson stumbled inside, his eyes swollen and filled with sorrow.
"William, what's wrong?" Dr. West's voice was sharp, cutting through the heavy air.
William's knees hit the floor with a dull thud, his hands trembling as he clutched at the doctor's pant leg. "I failed your sister, Wyatt," he gasped, words strangled by sobs.
Dr. West's brow furrowed, a hand reaching down to pry William's grip loose. "Get up; my sister died 25 years ago. You're mourning a ghost."
But William's wails sliced the room. "No, I won't rise until you forgive me. Your sister... Cathleen... Goddamn it, what kind of father lets this happen?"
"Tell me everything," Dr. West commanded, pulling William to the couch with firm hands. The leather groaned under the weight of William's collapse.
"Dora confessed..." William's voice broke, "to killing my wife."
Dr. West stood abruptly, the chair scraping angrily against the floor. "What the fuck do you mean she confessed?" His steps were a predator's circle, caged fury barely leashed.
"She even tried to kill my granddaughter Bella... My little girl's daughter's almost died because of her." William's confession spilled out, raw and ragged. "I sent her away the day she came back from jail. Avery left with that monster."
Disbelief was etched into Dr. West's features. He had known about the tragedy befalling Cathleen's child, but not the twisted roots beneath. The revelation struck like a whip crack in the tense quiet-a secret laid bare, ugly, and demanding retribution.
"So she was the one who killed my sister," Wyatt hissed, the words slicing through clenched teeth. "Tried to snuff out Bella too?" His eyes, rimmed red, locked onto William's defeated slump. A nod was all William got-a silent affirmation of nightmares turned to flesh.
"Confessed... why? Why, after all these years, did she confess now?" Wyatt's hands became fists, the leather of his chair squeaking under his tightening grip. "That bitch said something 'bout fruit and trees. Cryptic crap."
The confession had torn open an old wound for Wyatt-suspicions about Cathleen's mother's death that festered, unheeded, for years. He'd been a lone voice drowned out by disbelief. And now? Now the truth was a slap, jarring, and vile.
"We need to call the police. Now!" The command shot from Wyatt as he stripped away his doctor's coat, the symbol of his composure and control. His car keys clinked, metallic and cold-a call to action.
"We can't," William choked out, his face slick with tears. "She's dead. Ended herself after she confessed."
Wyatt froze, his hand hovering over the keys. "What?" Disbelief shadowed his features, draining them of color. The room seemed to contract, walls closing in with the weight of unanswerable questions.
"I think someone threatened her." Wyatt pushed, seeking logic where there was none. "Someone else knew. Because why the fuck would she confess now after all these years?"
William's head shake was slow, bewildered. "None of this makes fucking sense," he said, voice guttural with despair.
Wyatt's palm met the desk with a thunderous slap, frustration boiling over. "Does Cathy know?" The urgency in his voice spiked, sharp as a whip crack.
"I can't face her," William murmured, sinking further into himself. "I've caused too much pain for my little girl; I failed her as a father, and I am failing now as a grandfather."
"Let me see her," Wyatt offered, his resolve steeling. William's nod, heavy with resignation, sealed the pact.
"Stay here," Wyatt commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. He strode towards the door, the gravity of his task anchoring each step. The office door clicked shut behind him, sealing away the broken man and his confessions.
The sleek black paint of Dr. West's car glistened as he pulled into the luxuriousness of Cathleen and Xavier's driveway. His hands, still tingling from the slap delivered to his desk earlier, reached for the door handle of his car, his heart thumping a staccato rhythm in his chest.
As he stepped outside the car, his eyes lingered on the vast estate before him-a reminder of a marriage built on both passion and chaos. A sense of bitter relief washed over him, unwilling to admit the end of their journey together. They had weathered countless storms as a couple, and they are still fighting.
Wyatt's hand hovered over the bell when rubber crunched gravel-a new arrival. But duty propelled his finger forward, pressing the button. Seconds ticked like hours until the door swung open. Cathleen stood there, her sharp eyes softening at his sight.
"Uncle Wyatt." Her voice, usually laced with command, held warmth now.
"Cathy," he said simply, wrapping her in an embrace that tried to convey apologies, comfort, and protection-all the things he wished he could provide.
As they parted, the air shifted; another presence loomed behind him. Old Mr. Knight stepped from his car, greeted by the same guard who'd ushered in secrets and sorrow.
"Seems like I'm lucky today," Cathleen beamed, but her smile didn't reach her eyes. It never did these days.
"Cathy, listen-" Wyatt began, but the words stuck, clogged with guilt and accusation.
"I'm not here to stay," he cut through the pretense. His gaze locked onto Xavier's father-the old man's nod was terse, acknowledging the gravity they all bore.
"Your stepmother Dora, has left us, this morning," he forced out, each word heavier than the last.
"Left us, how?" Cathleen asked.
"She killed herself," Old Mr. Knight added, his voice devoid of inflection.
Cathleen froze, her brilliant mind grappling with the grotesque twist their lives had taken. No tears, no gasps-just a chilling void where emotions should have been. Xavier's fingers found hers, a lifeline amidst the chaos.
Wyatt watched throat tight. "Her funeral is tomorrow."
"Sorry, uncle, pretending isn't something I'm good at. I am not going." Defiance edged her voice, a blade honed sharp from years in the courtroom.
"Your father would need all the help he can get," Wyatt pushed, playing his last card. Mention of William softened her, a daughter's love cracking the armor of the celebrity lawyer.
"I will think about it, but no one should ask me to pretend," she said, standing-a pillar of strength amid the ruins of their family.
Cathleen's stance was rigid, a marble statue in the midst of her sprawling living room. Her eyes were twin shards of ice as they locked onto Dr. West's. His voice, when it next broke the silence, was laden with an ominous weight.
"Cathy, there is more," he murmured, each word careful, deliberate.
"More?" The single syllable dripped from her lips, a dangerous undertone lurking beneath the surface. She was a creature caged by her own foreboding, every muscle tensed for the strike.
"Dora confessed something before she took her life," Wyatt revealed, his tone threading through the air like a serpent coiling in preparation.
"Confessed what?" The question lashed out, stark and demanding. "That she tried to kill my Bella?" Cathleen questioned.
"No." A visible shudder passed through Wyatt West's frame, his mouth working as though the words were too toxic to release. "Not that."
"Then what?" Cathleen demanded, her voice cracking like a whip, demanding submission from the truth.
Wyatt's mouth started to tremble, his face a tempest of emotion restrained behind a dam about to burst. "Dora confessed to killing your mother."
The world seemed to fracture around her, reality splintering into jagged pieces. Cathleen's breath hitched, her mind reeling from the impact of the revelation. No sound escaped her lips, her body swaying like a sapling in a storm.
And then, with the gracelessness of a felled tree, she crumpled to the floor-her consciousness snuffed out like a candle in the wind.