Chapter 8 - The House on the Hill
Four months later.
Early autumn had arrived in the Hudson Valley, turning the rolling hills into a fiery canvas of crimson, amber, and gold.
Sixty miles north of the city, at the end of a quiet, tree-lined lane, stood a beautiful four-bedroom craftsman home. It featured a wraparound front porch, a big sunny backyard with an old oak tree, and a spacious sunroom that looked out over a sparkling creek.
I stood on the front porch, wearing a cozy oversized sweater, holding a steaming mug of apple cider.
In the yard below, Rowena and Beckett—now ten months old and crawling at light-speed—were giggling on a large quilted blanket.
Renlay was sitting beside them, helping Rowena stack soft wooden blocks, while Barnaby was chasing Beckett on his knees, making ridiculous monster noises that made both babies squeal with delight.
I watched them, a deep, profound sense of peace settling over my chest—a warmth so complete it felt as though my broken spine and shattered ankle had never existed.
My phone buzzed in my sweater pocket.
It was an email from Marcus.
I opened it. It contained a formal update on the corporate compliance case against Regional Insurance and Sandra Vance. Sandra had reached a plea agreement regarding the HIPAA violation, paying a heavy fine and accepting a permanent ban from working in insurance management.
Finanella’s country club, upon learning of her involvement in a federal privacy scandal and a high-profile family court restraining order, had quietly revoked her membership.
Without her country club status, and burdened by the legal fees she owed Arthur Vance, she had been forced to sell her townhouse and move into a small rental apartment two counties away.
She had tried sending a letter through a third-party relative two weeks ago—a pathetic, whining note blaming everyone else for her downfall and asking if she could "see the babies for Christmas."
I hadn't read past the first paragraph. I had handed it directly to Marcus to add to the restraining order enforcement file.
I didn't hate her anymore.
Hatred took energy, and every ounce of energy I had belonged to the life I was building on this hill.
Barnaby stood up from the blanket, brushing grass off his jeans, and walked up the porch steps toward me.
He wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder, breathing in the crisp autumn air beside me.
"What are you thinking about, momma?" Barnaby whispered softly, kissing my cheek.
"I was thinking about seven days," I said, leaning back against his chest.
Barnaby frowned slightly. "Seven days?"
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"The seven days I begged her to stay," I smiled, turning around in his arms to look up into his warm brown eyes. "I thought those seven days were the worst week of my life. But if she had said yes... if she had stayed... I never would have hired Renlay. I never would have realized how strong I was. And I might have never realized that the man who saved me was sitting right upstairs."
Barnaby looked at me with an intensity that made my heart leap, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a small velvet box.
