Chapter 9
Rose’s POV
The captain’s voice crackled through the intercom. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are beginning our descent into Washington, DC. Please fasten your seatbelts and switch your electronic devices to airplane mode. Thank you for your cooperation.”
I leaned back in my seat, letting out a long breath of relief as I watched the ground draw closer. For the first time in fifteen years, I was free–away from the boys, away from New York–and it felt damn good.
Twenty minutes later, the plane touched down, and I grabbed my bag, heading for the arrivals hall. As I walked, my thoughts drifted back to Gideon and Nathaniel. They must
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have found the fake body I planted, the one I’d set on fire in the house.
I hadn’t just burned it out of vengeance. No, this had been a carefully orchestrated plan -my “death” to make them suffer for a while before they realized I was still alive and coming for them.
“Rosalie!” a voice snapped me out of my thoughts.
I turned, and there she was–my mother, standing a few feet away. She looked different. More beautiful somehow, though age had touched her just a little.
Without thinking, I rushed into her arms, burying my face in her chest and letting the tears flow. Her familiar, warm scent enveloped me as she kissed my hair and whispered soft words of comfort.
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“There, there, sweetheart. You’re home now. It’s all going to be okay,” she murmured, gently stroking my hair.
Her words, meant to soothe, only made my sobs harder. Fifteen years I had spent away from her, abandoning my family, and now, in her arms, I realized how much I had missed this. I’d forgotten what it felt like to be held by a mother.
I don’t know how long I cried, but I didn’t stop. I wept for the years lost, for the pain I had caused, for the absence of home in my life. I cried for the betrayal of the boys and Serena, for the children I’d lost, and for the one thing that could never be again: the possibility of having another child.
The torment I’d lived through in the past week, the hell I had endured, came crashing
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back as I clung to her, needing her warmth and safety like I had never needed anything before.
Eventually, I pulled away, wiping my face. My mother was crying too, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.
“Oh, my sweet girl,” she sobbed, cupping my face. “What have they done to you?”
I shook my head. “I’m just glad to be home, Mom.”
And it was true. Because this was the last time I’d shed tears for them. Now, my thoughts were consumed with vengeance. They would pay.
“Yes, sweetheart, let’s go home,” my mother said, offering a small, comforting smile.
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I hesitated, glancing around. “What about Dad?”
“He had a board meeting earlier,” she replied. “He’s still at work, but we’ll see him later today.”
A security guard opened the door of the limousine for us, and we climbed in. My mother, a small smile playing on her lips, turned to me.
“If only you’d been here sooner,” she said wistfully. “Your father could have handed the business over to you and retired.”
I placed my hand gently on her knee. “I’m here now, Mom, and if he’ll let me, I’ll take over.”
Her smile widened. “Oh, darling, I’m sure your father will agree. But don’t you think
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you need to rest first? I’m sure these last few days have been exhausting.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but then I remembered what the doctor had said.
“If you don’t rest, you’ll die.”
I paused. Rest was what I needed to carry out my plans. I had to heal and gain strength before confronting the Blackwoods and the Whitmores–Serena’s family.
“Alright, Mom, I agreed reluctantly. “I’ll rest for a few days.”
The car slowed to a stop, and I stepped out.
I gazed at the massive mansion that had been my childhood home. A soft smile touched my lips as I took in the sight–the water fountain, the mermaid ice sculpture
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my father had built just for me, and the rose garden he’d cultivated with his own hands.
As a child, he used to bring me roses every day. The memories hit me all at once, and I smiled again. Those had been my best days, and despite everything, I was happy to be back.
“I’m so glad you’re home, baby,” my mother said, her voice filled with love.
I smiled back at her. “Me too.”
Just then, a phone rang. For a brief moment, I thought it was mine–until I remembered that I’d tossed it in the trash at the airport.
My mother pulled out her phone and answered, but as soon as she heard what was on the other end, her face paled, and fear flashed in her eyes.
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“What’s wrong, Mom?” I asked, my voice laced with concern.
“It’s your father…” she whispered. “He’s had a heart attack.”
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