Outside the room, his voice dropped. “What is it, Kira?”
“Mr. Flynn,” she said, hesitating slightly. “Miss Holland… she was here just now. Did you know?”
Ernest’s eyes narrowed sharply. “Here? I thought she was with Locke at Hadley’s?”
He had made sure with Kira beforehand—Linda wouldn’t be brought in unless Elissa and Locke were long gone.
Kira nodded, her brows furrowed. “She must’ve come back for the drawing storage tube she left behind. I saw her when Sebastian came looking. She didn’t stay long.”
He closed his eyes briefly, the implications washing over him like ice water.
“When did that happen?” he asked.
“Ten minutes ago, maybe less,” Kira said, trying to recall. “She left through the main gate. Sebastian was driving.”
Ten minutes. That short window when he’d gone upstairs to fetch Linda’s medication. Had Elissa overheard anything? Seen anything?
Ernest’s jaw clenched, and his gaze dropped to the floor, mind racing. “And how did she look when she left?”
Kira hesitated. “Calm. She seemed normal, if a bit… quiet.”
Normal? Could she really have come just for the drawings and left without hearing anything? His gut told him the truth wasn’t that simple.
It was just past ten when Elissa quietly stepped back into Jewel Avenue.
“You’re back already?” Hadley blinked in surprise as she opened the door. “I figured you’d be gone till lunchtime—”
She froze, her words faltering as her gaze settled on Elissa’s face. “Elissa… what is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Elissa didn’t respond right away. After a while, her friend’s presence finally seemed to anchor her, dragging her out of a fog. There was a pause, a flicker of hesitation. Then came the smile—tight, fragile, and utterly joyless.
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“Hadley, the thing is… I don’t think there’s going to be a wedding after all… not for me and Ernest.”
By nine that evening, the house had fallen into a soft hush. Joy and Locke were already nestled under their blankets, their little heads touching as they slept soundly. The doorbell broke the silence.
Hadley descended the stairs and opened the door—just as she’d expected. “Ernest.”
His gaze flicked past her shoulder, scanning the hallway behind her. “I’m here to see Elissa.”
“Come in,” Hadley said, stepping aside. “She’s upstairs, in the guest room.”
Ernest nodded, already moving. He knew the way—this wasn’t unfamiliar territory. Elissa had brought Locke over plenty of times. Overnight stays weren’t new. And Ernest had always been the one coming and going, picking them up, dropping them off.
He reached the guest room door and knocked, his tone low and steady. “Elissa. It’s me—Ernest. I’m coming in.” He then pushed the door open.
Elissa, holding a change of clothes fresh from the wardrobe, nearly collided with him. What could she say? He had already stepped inside without so much as a word of permission.
.
.
.