256. Who we are today

256. Who we are today
“What do you think Marshall left in the letters?” Christopher asks once we're finally alone in my room at East Houghton Manor.
But my mind is still with the lawyer’s words, the clauses pounding inside my head. The assets Grandpa acquired for me—just for me. Not something Houghton. Not something that should belong to anyone else, but mine.
That moved me in a way I can barely explain.
I’ve never received anything but jewelry or dresses. Even Rosehollow was a wedding gift. Charlotte was once wrapped in silk and diamonds, her name forever linked to the Houghton legacy. I guess, in some way, that was Grandpa’s goal all along. He was afraid to let me go, and I didn’t want to leave.
My eyes drift to the nightstand, to the drawer where I hid the divorce papers he gave me that night, and stay there, even when Christopher’s strong arms wrap around me from behind.
“What are you thinking about so hard?” He presses a gentle, loving kiss on the curve of my neck, resting his chin there. The sensation of his body wrapped around mine, the firmness of his stomach against my back, our warmth blending together—it relaxes my muscles before I even realize.
“About that first time?” He insists, brushing his chin against my skin, his beard lightly scratching the sensitive spot.
“Yeah… things turned out different today, didn’t they?” I murmur thoughtfully. “He did the unthinkable.”
“I’m not talking about Marshall’s will.” Christopher lowers his voice too, deep and close to my ear. “I’m talking about the first time I was here, in your room, right after our wedding.”
I let out a gentle sigh, covering his hand with mine—now spread across my stomach, possessive and protective.
“You looked so furious when you glared at me from the altar,” he murmurs back, his thumb tracing slow circles over my clothes. “I remember thinking, ‘She’s different today,’ and it made me uneasy.”
“You kept insisting I was playing games,” I smile, warmth blooming in my chest. “Even though you were the one always suggesting the stupidest ideas. I didn’t even know you liked games that much.”
“I don’t,” he says simply. “That was just the only way I could get you to look at me.”
I turn slowly, but even then, he doesn’t loosen his grip. His arms stay wrapped around my waist, hands now resting low on my back, dangerously close to my butt, while mine find his chest.
Even through his shirt, I can feel the heat of his skin—feverish, like he was the night I faced this family’s shadows and demons. Feverish, like Christopher was when he broke down in my arms after the mistake I thought would be our true end. When I almost gave up on this future… on us.
And from the way he looks at me, I know he understands and doesn’t judge me for it.
“I almost lost you,” he says quietly, more to himself than to me. One of his hands slides up my side until it finds my face. “Because even before everything, even before I remembered, I was too stubborn, too proud to admit the only good thing in my life was you. Even when I broke you, the only reason I kept coming back to that house every night was you.”
“Every night?” I blink, confused and surprised. “You left for months at a time.”
“The staff were told not to mention when I was there. I didn’t want to bother you.” He gives a self-deprecating smile. “I thought I was sparing you something, after all the pain I caused. But I guess that only pushed us further apart.”
I bite my lip hard, using the pain as an anchor. But Christopher doesn’t let me spiral into frustration. His thumb slides over my lower lip, gently pulling it away from my teeth.
“It’s okay. That’s all in the past now.” He presses a lingering kiss to my forehead, and I close my eyes, my lashes wet with tears.
When his lips pull back just an inch from my skin, I step back slightly, resting my hands on his chest a moment longer before lowering them to my sides. I open my eyes and see the confusion in his expression.
“On this exact same day, at some point lost in time…” I begin. “You asked me for a divorce. In this very house, in Marshall’s study.”
Christopher’s eyes soften, and I see sadness flicker in them. “Charlotte,” he says, lips trembling slightly. He doesn’t say anything else—but he’s begging. Please.
“When I died,” I start, and each word feels like a blade to his chest. “I begged to at least stay with my son. But I also decided that, if I ever got another chance to do things differently, I would let you go.”
I take a bigger step back this time, creating a painful distance between us. The warmth of his body is replaced by a coldness that seems to have lasted for decades. Christopher reaches out for me but doesn’t quite make contact.
“Do you remember when you took Evelyn to Kensington?”
Christopher closes his eyes and rubs his face in frustration. He steps back as well.
“I was stupid. Still trying to cling to a ridiculous idea when my heart clearly wasn’t in it anymore. It never was, but I realized too late and took too long to remember.”
“Actually, it makes me wonder. I touch my belly. If we didn’t have our memories, we wouldn’t have done anything differently.” I give a sad smile. “We probably would have made all the same mistakes and ended up the same way.”
“But you said it yourself.” He pauses and turns to me, his hands hanging at his sides. He doesn’t understand what I’m saying or where I’m going with this. “We’ve changed. Isn’t that what matters?”
“Yes. We’ve changed.” I nod and take a deep breath— or try to. “But because we made mistakes first. Because we learned from them.”
I lift my eyes to meet his.
“…Isn’t it those mistakes that have shaped who we are today?”
Christopher falls silent for a moment, absorbing my words, his face unreadable, revealing nothing about what he's thinking. But it doesn’t matter, because mine is clear. Clearer than ever.
“We got a second chance, that’s true. But we’re only here now, together again, because once upon a time we both messed up. And what defines us isn’t the mistakes, Chris… It’s how we handle them… what we learn from them. It’s the good things we take away, even when everything feels messy and painful. Even when there’s no hope left.”
“How can you think like this after everything?” he asks, weakly, with no fight in his voice. It’s not an accusation. In fact, there’s almost admiration in his tone—exhausted, but in awe.
“Because I’m grateful.” I smile, gently rubbing my belly. “I’m grateful for the Charlotte I used to be. And I’m proud of the Charlotte I’ve become.”
Christopher’s eyes shine, but no tears fall. Just a deep silence, as if words aren’t necessary anymore. Still, he slowly steps toward me.
“Besides... if we don’t let go of the past, it’ll always come back to haunt us. I realized that when I watched Evelyn die. In the end, she made me understand that as long as she had control over me, and the seeds of her hate and resentment remained inside me—she’d won. I don’t want to live in the shadow Evelyn left behind. I don’t want to keep reliving our mistakes or remembering how things used to be. And yes, they made me stronger and taught me something. But you know what, Christopher… Pain is inevitable. But suffering? That’s a choice. And I’m tired of bleeding.”
“I wish I were half the person you’ve become,” he says, his voice raw with honesty. “If I’d had even a little of your strength… maybe we wouldn’t have hurt so much.”
“Maybe.” I shrug, still wearing that faint smile. “But I don’t think the pain was pointless.”
“Do you still love me?” he asks, hesitant, like that’s the only answer he needs to keep breathing.
“With all my heart.” I nod, my eyes stinging.
Christopher’s brow furrows as he watches me, intense, like I’m the only thing that matters. I step toward the nightstand, slowly opening the drawer with trembling but steady hands.
My heart tightens painfully, pounding in my ears, throat, and temples. But when my fingers find the paper that’s been waiting for closure, it feels like everything stops.
“…That’s why I have to do this.”