Hundred and Seventy Four

Hundred and Seventy Four
I was folding Noah’s laundry when my phone rang, an unfamiliar number flashing across the screen. I almost ignored it, thinking it might be another reporter. But something, maybe habit, made me answer.

“Hello?”

“Willow,” came a voice I hadn’t heard in weeks. Smooth, calm, deliberate. Unmistakable. Emma Ashwell.

My stomach dropped.

“Emma.”

“I hope I’m not calling at a bad time,” she said, like we were old friends or something. “I’ve been meaning to reach out. There’s been so much… unpleasantness lately. I think it’s time we
moved past it.”

I blinked, unsure I’d heard right.  Excuse me? Moved past it?”

“Yes,” she said, her tone warm and cheerful. “I was hoping you and Declan would come to dinner this evening. Just the three of us, and his Dad. I want to make things right.”

For a moment, all I could concentrate on was the faint hum of the washing machine as a thousand thoughts swirled in my mind. 

What was this? And so suddenly? Had Declan said something to her?

She went on, “I don’t want to lose my son, Willow. I know I’ve made mistakes. I only want peace now.”

Her voice was soft, almost like it would break anytime soon and she would start sobbing, and against my better judgment, something inside me softened.

I wanted to believe her. I needed to believe her.

And I didn’t want Declan to lose his mother.

“Alright,” I said quietly. “We’ll come.”

But later that night, Declan was furious when I told him.

“She called you? Out of nowhere? And you said yes?”

“She sounded sincere,” I said, pulling on my coat.

“She’s never sincere.”

“She said she wants to make things right.”

He let out a low, humorless laugh. “What she wants is control. And you’re walking right into it.”

“Maybe she just wants her son back,” I said, forcing steadiness into my voice. “And maybe that’s okay.”

Declan stared at me like he couldn’t recognize the woman in front of him. “You don’t owe her your grace, Willow. She’s done nothing to earn it.”

“I’m not doing it for her,” I murmured. “Maybe I’m doing it for you.”

That silenced him, just long enough for regret to start gnawing at me. A sinking feeling, that this would not go well.

But it was too late to back out.

I waited as Declan got changed, and then we got into the car and began to drive.

The Ashwell estate looked even larger than I had imagined. Declan had shown me pictures before, but I hadn’t quite registered its opulence. It was a sprawling white mansion set against
perfectly kept lawns that glowed under golden evening lights. Every inch of it screamed wealth, dirty, wealth: the curved driveway lined with trimmed hedges, the stone fountain shaped like swans, the valet who opened our doors before we could even step out.

Declan muttered something under his breath as we walked up the marble steps. “This is already a bad idea.”

I slipped my hand into his. “We’ll get through dinner and leave. It’ll be fine.”

The double doors opened before I could knock.

And that’s when I realized, it wasn’t ‘just the four of us.’

The front hall was full.

Women in satin dresses, men in tuxedos, a chandelier so massive it could have swallowed my old apartment whole. Crystal glasses clinked, laughter echoed off the marble, and a waiter
passed carrying a tray of champagne.

Declan stopped short beside me. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Declan!” Emma swept toward us casually, her dress flowing, the diamonds on her neck catching the light. “You made it!”

“This was supposed to be a family dinner,” he said tightly.

“Oh, nonsense,” she said with airy laughter. “It’s just a few friends. You remember the Westbrooks, the Callahans…”

“I remember them,” Declan cut in. “And I didn’t agree to this. You misled us.”

Emma ignored him completely. Her eyes flicked toward me, sharp and assessing. “Willow, dear. You look… quaint.”

My cheeks burned. I didn’t know what to say. I looked at Declan, squeezing his hand. 

“Come in, both of you,” she said, already turning away. “Everyone’s dying to meet you.”

The house was glittering. I had thought the lake house was fancy, but this - God. Golden fixtures. Imported art. Polished marble floors so spotless I was afraid to step on it too hard.

Everything screamed money. The kind of money that was old and loud and smug about it.

Everywhere I looked, eyes followed me.

I felt the whispers before I heard them.

“That’s her?”

“The one from the papers?”

“I thought Declan was engaged to that PR girl—what was her name?” 

“Sabrina. Such a pity.”

Emma moved through her guests smoothly, introducing me with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“This is Willow,” she’d say sweetly. “She works for a… community organization. Very admirable.”

The way she said community organization made it sound like I spent my days serving soup at street corners.

One older woman asked, “So how did you and Declan meet, dear?”

Before I could answer, Emma interjected smoothly, “Oh, years ago. When Declan was teaching. She was quite the bright student. Though I suppose she had… other ambitions.”

Laughter rippled around the circle.

Declan’s hand tightened around mine. “Enough,” he muttered.

Emma turned, feigning innocence. “What? It’s just the truth,” she smiled, “You know I don’t mean anything bad.”

“Stop.”

She arched a brow. “Really, Declan, you can’t expect me to pretend people aren’t curious. It’s all been in the papers, after all.”

Her tone was light, but her eyes glittered.

And then, as if she hadn’t already cut deep enough, she leaned closer to one of her friends and said, not softly at all, right in front of me, “It’s such a shame, really. He could have had
anyone. But I suppose everyone has their… weaknesses.”

I felt my hand fall out of Declan’s. I couldn’t look at him, at Emma, at anyone at all. My eyes were glued to the floor. But everyone’s eyes were on me.

“Excuse me,” I said, my voice shaking. “I need some air.”

I turned, but Emma’s voice followed me. “Don’t be dramatic, dear. Surely you’ve endured worse than a few harmless questions. Or is that why you left last time?”

Declan’s voice cut through it, sharp as a blade. “Mom, stop talking.”

“Declan, please.”

“No. You say anything about her again, and I swear to God-”

“Swear what?” she taunted, her tone still infuriatingly calm. “That you’ll abandon your family for her again? Because from where I’m standing, that seems to be your answer to everything.”

Gasps. Silence. Every conversation in the room stilled.

Declan stepped closer, voice low but seething. “You don’t get to talk about her that way. Not ever again.”

“Declan -”

He cut her off. “You can call me ungrateful. You can insult me. But you don’t touch her. You don’t even say her name unless it’s with respect.”

For the first time, Emma’s composure faltered. Her lips parted, stunned by the venom in his tone.

I felt a hundred eyes on me, pity, curiosity, judgment, all of it unbearable.

“I can’t do this,” I whispered.

“Willow,” It was Declan’s voice.

But I was already walking. Fast. Past the marble floors and the chandelier and the people who looked at me like I was some sort of vermin, a clown, a pauper.

I pushed through the doors and stepped into the night air, my chest tight, tears burning down my cheeks before I could stop them.

Behind me, I heard footsteps. Declan’s voice, low and frantic, calling my name.

And then another, sharper set of heels clicking on marble.

Emma’s.