One day at a time,she thought, each word echoing the ticking of the clock. After all, that was exactly how she fell in love with Alexander.One day at a time.She didn’t even notice it, with the passage of time. Little by little, she realized that her heart now fully belonged to him. But the heartbreaking thing was that he didn’t want it.
The door creaked open, and Joyce entered the room, her face a mix of concern and welcome. The sisters locked eyes, sharing a silent understanding that transcended words. No words were needed as they flew into each other’s arms, then held each other tightly, the weight of recent events dissipating in the warmth of their shared bond.
The seconds stretched into minutes, each heartbeat a testament to the enduring connection between the two sisters. As they stood there, locked in a silent communion, Phyllis felt comforted. She still didn’t have any of the answers she had been searching for, but she was with her sister. She would slowly find her way from here. Life seemed to be a big, frightening monster, threatening to grab her with its talons and drag her into the very pits of darkness, but there was light in the guise of her sister. What mattered now was the reassurance found in the familiar touch of a loved one, a refuge from the storm that life had brewed.
In the absence of words, their shared history spoke volumes—the laughter of childhood, the trials of growing up, and the unbreakable ties that bound them together. Eventually, they eased out of the embrace, their eyes reflecting a myriad of emotions.
“My dear sister,” Joyce gazed lovingly at Phyllis, caressing Phyllis’ cheek. “Do tell me all about it.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-ONE
As Alexander walked through the stately corridors of his mansion, each step seemed to echo the hollowness within. The house, once filled with the vivacity of Phyllis’ presence, now stood as a silent testament to her absence. The changes she had made, the vibrant garden, the rearranged library, and the carefully chosen statues—all bespoke of her imprint on the once stoic residence.
The garden, once merely a backdrop to the mansion, now bore the bloom of Phyllis’ artistic touch. As he walked through his own home, he felt as if it didn’t belong to him any longer. Phyllis had left an indelible imprint on it, and his body heavily dragged through the corridors. Every once in a while, he would sigh heavily, but this act brought him no relief.
Entering the library, Alexander ran his fingers over the spines of the books, each one a chapter in the tale of their short-lived union. The rearranged shelves seemed to murmur tales of shared moments—of stolen glances, whispered conversations, and the quiet companionship of two souls finding solace in each other’s company against all odds.
The once regal mansion now felt like an empty shell, stripped of the warmth and vibrancy that Phyllis had breathed into it. He finally had no other choice but to admit it to himself. He was madly, utterly and completely in love with his wife. There was no other explanation for this emptiness in his entire being. He felt as if without her, there was no light, no air, no water. It was nothingness.
He had to escape somewhere, where she did not leave her mark, and the only such place was his study. The mahogany desk, adorned with intricate carvings and neatly arranged papers, held no allure for him. The lamplight cast a warm glow, but its comforting embrace failed to dispel the shadows that clouded his thoughts.
As he sank into the leather-upholstered chair, the room’s familiar sights and sounds only intensified his sense of isolation. The ticking of the antique clock on the wall seemed to mock the stillness that enveloped him. Stacks of ledgers, once meticulously organized, blurred into a sea of indecipherable numbers.
Alexander’s mind, typically sharp and focused, now wandered through the corridors of memory, revisiting moments shared with Phyllis. The soft rustle of her skirts as she moved through the study, the echo of her laughter that once filled the air—these haunted him as he attempted to immerse himself in the task at hand.
He ran a hand through his hair, frustration mounting with each passing moment. The work that had once been a refuge now felt like an unwelcome intrusion, a feeble attempt to distract himself from the chasm Phyllis had left behind. The quill poised over the ledger remained motionless, a silent witness to the internal struggle that held him captive. With a resigned sigh, Alexander closed the ledger and pushed it aside. The weight of responsibilities, once a familiar burden, now felt inconsequential compared to the ache in his heart.
At that very moment, a knock on the door pulled him back to the present moment, although he wanted to be anywhere but here, and any time but now. Yet, he knew that he could not escape his heart, no matter where he endeavored to hide.
“Yes?” he called out, welcome for any intruder with any news he had to share, be they good or bad. Even bad news was welcome, for he doubted that anything could be worse than losing the woman he loved, and with her, his possibility of life happiness.
The door opened, revealing Leonard’s smiling face. The two brothers had always been stark contrasts of each other, with Leonard being the cheerful one, and Alexander the brooding one. Now, immediately upon seeing his brother, Leonard’s good mood darkened.
“My word, old boy!” Leonard exclaimed, closing the door behind him, realizing that they were in dire need of privacy, and walking over to the writing table his brother was seated at. “Did someone die?”
It was, of course, meant as a playful jab, but Alexander was in no mood for jokes. “Sit down,” Alexander gestured without answering his brother’s question. “What brings you here, Leonard?”
Leonard hesitated for a moment, then he revealed. “Mrs. Kensington has written to me urgently regarding the uhm… new developments here at the estate.”
Alexander frowned. He knew what Mrs. Kensington had written about. “It was not her business to pry. I ought to give her the sack.”
Alexander did not mean a single thing of that. He would have rather cut off his right hand than let go of someone as loyal and hardworking as Mrs. Kensington, but he still believed that it was not her business to meddle. Alexander would sort it out himself… one way or another.
“You will do no such thing,” Leonard frowned. “I see she has done well by informing me of everything. You look dreadful, Alex.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Alexander replied defeatedly.
“Of course, it does,” Leonard corrected him. “You have not eaten for how long… two days?”
“I suppose Mrs. Kensington keeps track of that as well?” Alexander snorted annoyedly. He didn’t want to add that he didn’t eat for the simple reason that he had no appetite and he had no intention of stuffing himself with food he obviously didn’t need. He knew that this stream of thought sounded like that of an indulgent child’s, but he could do nothing to change it. He was a slave to his emotions now, which was something that had never happened to him before. He had always been in utter control of both his emotions as well as his life. With Phyllis gone, everything seemed to have gone to hell. Just like he told Leonard, it didn’t matter.
“You know she does,” Leonard nodded. “Isn’t that what she did when we were boys as well? Telling Mother of the mischief we were trying to keep a secret?”
Alexander almost smiled. Leonard was right. Mrs. Kensington had always had the family’s well-being in mind. She had always been the ever-mindful guardian of the two boys who loved getting into trouble. Even now, when they were grown men, she still considered them children who needed protection and tending to. A part of him appreciated that. A silent part, though. The other, much bigger part, considered him a grown up who had made a terrible blunder, and needed solitude to lick his wounds.
Leonard didn’t say anything else. Instead, he went and poured them both a glass of liquor. He seemed to sense that they both needed it. He swirled the amber looking liquid in the glass, as the ice clinked against the walls. Alexander listened to the sound, and for some reason, it soothed him. Then, Leonard placed the glass in front of him. The other remained in his hand.
“Our family legacy has been salvaged,” Leonard said, sitting down and leaning more comfortably in his chair, continuing the swirl the liquid as if mesmerized by the action. “We have no more financial woes. We ought to celebrate, and yet… you do not seem to be in any celebrating mood, Alex.”
