Chapter 68- Remnants of Her
Chapter 68- Remnants of Her
Guinevere paused in the doorway, her gaze landing on Audrey, who stood quietly in front of the old bookshelf. The flickering lamplight danced across the glass frames, casting subtle shadows on Audrey’s face as she stared at the photos—snapshots of a life she only half-remembered, faces both familiar and foreign all at once.
A wistful smile curved Guinevere’s lips, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Crazy how much everything’s changed,” she murmured, her voice soft with a bittersweet edge. “Goddess, I sound like a cranky old lady saying that.”
She let out a breath, half a laugh, and walked over to the bed where she set a tray down with a clink. On it sat a glass of water, a dented can of spam already opened with a spoon beside it, and two painkillers that gleamed under the light.
“These are the strong kind,” Guinevere said as she gestured toward the pills. “One should be more than enough, but I brought two just in case. Papa would have a fit if I under-dosed a guest under our roof.”
Audrey’s throat tightened. Her hand dropped from the bookshelf, her thoughts miles away.
Guinevere. Gawain. Stone.
They had endured so much more than she could fully comprehend. While she was caught in the impossible pull between Dan and Stone, they had lived through decades of grief, surviving the loss of their mother. A woman who had once lived and breathed among them—who had loved them. Who had died in a way too violent for words. Her soul now shared a space inside Audrey’s own skin. If Audrey left—if she walked away from all of this—it would be like watching their mother die again. Disappearing all over again.
The weight of it threatened to crush her.
A heavy silence settled over her, and she looked down at the necklace around her throat, its presence suddenly suffocating.
“Could you help me take this off?” she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Of course,” Guinevere replied, already stepping forward.
With practiced fingers, Guinevere moved behind her and gently unfastened the clasp. Audrey reached up to remove the matching earrings, and then slipped the clip from her hair. Guinevere, meanwhile, retrieved a small, wooden jewelry box from the top shelf. She opened it with care, as if it were sacred, and delicately placed the necklace inside.
Audrey handed over the earrings, but just as Guinevere moved to close the box, something caught Audrey’s eye—a faint edge of yellowed paper tucked beneath the velvet lining. A letter? An envelope? She couldn’t quite tell.
Before she could ask, Guinevere had shut the lid and returned the box to its high perch on the shelf.
Without a word, Guinevere crossed the room to the dresser, opened a drawer, and pulled out a plain white T-shirt. She turned back with a knowing grin and placed it on the bed.
“You can wear this tonight. It’s Papa’s shirt, but trust me—he wouldn’t mind. Actually, he’d be thrilled.”
Audrey flushed. The warmth rushed to her cheeks faster than she could stop it, and she dropped her gaze, embarrassed and unsure why her heart was suddenly fluttering. Was it the idea of Stone’s shirt? Or was it the fact that Guinevere, his daughter, was teasing her with a grin that clearly said I see what’s going on here?
Without replying, Audrey snatched one of the painkillers and chased it down with a sip of cold water. She needed the ache in her chest to go away—the confusion, the longing, the guilt—all of it.
Guinevere gave a little stretch and sighed. “Well, I should head out. It’s getting late and you definitely need rest.”
Audrey nodded but remained silent. How could she rest when her heart felt like a war zone?
“I’ll stay close,” Guinevere added as she moved toward the door. “No more than ten feet from the house at all times. Papa’s orders. He’s very serious about it.”
A soft smile tugged at Audrey’s lips, grateful for her presence. “Just… be careful.”
Guinevere gave a dramatic groan and threw her hands up. “Oh, come on! First Papa, now you? You guys really know how to ruin a girl’s fun.”
Audrey’s smile widened despite the tension in her chest. Guinevere’s dramatics were oddly comforting.
But then Guinevere’s face turned solemn. “You don’t have to worry. I promise. Okay?”
Audrey nodded slowly.
Guinevere started to close the door, then paused and leaned back in with a serious expression. “One last thing—don’t look out the window, alright?”
Audrey raised a brow. “Why not?”
“No reason.” Guinevere flashed a mischievous grin. “Sleep tight!”
The door clicked shut behind her, and silence returned to the room like a shroud.
As soon as Audrey was alone, her curiosity got the better of her. She rushed to the bookshelf and stood on her toes, barely able to reach the box. Stretching her arm as far as she could, she finally managed to pull it down.
“Damn it,” she muttered under her breath. “Why is everything always on the top shelf?”
She sat on the edge of the bed, opened the box, and gently lifted the necklace aside. Her fingers trembled as she brushed the velvet lining and discovered a hidden flap. Carefully, she pried it up, revealing a tiny envelope—worn with time, its paper faded to a warm cream.
Her breath caught in her throat.
The handwriting across the front was delicate and precise.My beloved, it read..
Heart pounding, she slid the fragile paper from its envelope and unfolded it with care. Six short lines of poetry filled the page, each stroke flowing with grace. The language wasn’t one she could understand, but the emotion embedded in the script was unmistakable.
Whoever had written this—she had written this. The woman whose soul now lived within Audrey. The woman Stone had loved. The woman this family still mourned.
Tears welled in Audrey’s eyes. What were the words? A confession of love? A promise? A goodbye?
She folded the paper slowly and slipped it back into its envelope, her fingers brushing against the velvet once more. This time, she noticed a thin pouch tucked into the very bottom. She opened it and withdrew a photograph no larger than her palm.
Her breath caught again.
Stone stood beside a woman in the picture, one hand resting gently on her shoulder. He was younger, clean-shaven, his hair neatly styled and parted to the side. The woman sat elegantly, her dark hair pinned in a style she didn’t recognize, her dress modest but beautiful. Her features echoed Guinevere’s, though softer—more refined, with a warmth that radiated even through the aged image.
They looked like they belonged together.
The intimacy in the way they stood, the comfort in their eyes—it was undeniable.
Audrey felt the sting of tears threaten again. How could something so beautiful be torn apart?
She carefully returned the photograph and letter to their hiding places, placed the pearls back where they belonged, and closed the box with reverence. Then she stood, changed into Stone’s T-shirt—its fabric soft and faintly carrying his scent—and crawled into the bed.
As she lay there, wrapped in the scent of someone she wasn’t sure she had the right to love, a sense of calm settled over her. Her heart was still aching, still confused, but in that moment, she felt safe.
Stone’s presence lingered around her like a protective embrace. And as her eyes fluttered shut, her last conscious thought was not of Dan, or even of the letter’s foreign words—it was of the man whose shirt she wore, and the ghost of a woman she was slowly beginning to remember.