Echos of What Was

Echos of What Was
Lucas carried Tessa to her room, laying her gently on the bed as quiet whimpers escaped her lips. He went downstairs in search of the innkeeper, requesting tea and medicine—she’d need them after the flood of tears and the weight of reality settling in. 

As he passed through the lobby, his gaze landed on the young girl and her mother—the same pair Tessa had been with earlier. He hadn't expected them to be staying here, but he already had an idea of who they were. 

Approaching, he spoke briefly with the woman, confirming what he suspected—she had reached out to him about her daughter’s abilities. He apologized, saying he’d need to reschedule for the morning, explaining that the woman he’d just helped upstairs was his wife. As he turned to leave, a small tug at his suit jacket stopped him. 

Valerie stood before him, a shy smile on her lips, her gaze flickering to her mother for reassurance. At her mother’s slight nod, she reached for his hand, tracing the lines on his palm. 

"Cassie read your letter," she murmured. "She has nothing to forgive. You were the best daddy to her." 

Lucas felt his knees buckle. Mrs. Blackveil started forward, concern flashing across her face, but he waved her off. He was fine—just unraveling. 

No one knew about the letter he’d placed in Cassie’s coffin. The plea for forgiveness, his desperate words begging her not to hate him for failing her as a father, as her protector. 

Valerie gave his hand one last squeeze before retreating to her mother’s side. She looked tired. They excused themselves, agreeing to meet him in his private office the next morning. Lucas steadied himself, then walked straight to his ex-wife’s room. 

Tessa heard a knock but assumed it was the innkeeper. “Come in,” she called, lying with a cold washcloth pressed to her swollen eyes. 

She lifted her head—and froze. Lucas stood there. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I should’ve said it was me. I can leave. I’m the last person you want to see right now.” 

He turned, but Tessa caught his wrist. “Don’t go. Stay.” 

Her voice was hoarse, but he heard her. Her touch, as always, sent electricity through his skin. 

She let go, clearing space for him in the chair beside her. Neither of them knew how to start, how to mend the wreckage between them. 

"You look good, Tess. I mean—you always did." 

She chuckled at his flustered words, watching a faint blush creep onto his cheeks. 

"Thank you. So do you." 

She patted the space beside her on the bed. He hesitated, then exhaled. Jacket off. Sleeves rolled up. Shoes kicked off. He settled beside her, just as they had as kids, staring at the ceiling, watching the late-afternoon shadows dance along the walls. 

"I read your letter," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "I have so many questions, Lucas. So much hurt. So much anger." 

"I know." His throat tightened. "I'm sorry for the pain I caused you. If I could take it back—if I could start over—I would." 

She turned onto her side, studying him. He was still handsome, more commanding than before. Confidence had always been there, but now it radiated, shaping the way the world bent around him. 

She loved him. She always would. 

"Who do you think killed her?" 

His jaw tightened, nostrils flaring as the weight of that day pressed against his ribs. Slowly, he turned to look at her—the only person who had ever seen him fully. The one who had always met his gaze with love, adoration, and unshaken pride. 

"I'm not sure," he said. "But I’ll find them." 

His hand brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, fingertips grazing her cheek before he pulled away. 

"Promise me you won’t get hurt," she whispered. 

A lone tear slid down her face. He wiped it away with his thumb. 

This moment was theirs. One last glimpse at what had been—at what would never be again. Once they left this room, nothing would ever be the same.