Chapter 8 - Shadows of the Past Buried
It was a crisp, clear Saturday afternoon when Martha Ashworth finally returned home.
Not to the cold, dark brownstone on Eighth Street, but to the sprawling, sunlit estate by the lake.
The front doors swung open, and Martha stepped inside, leaning on a polished wooden cane, though she barely needed it. The color had returned to her cheeks, her hair was neatly brushed, and she wore a soft cashmere cardigan that Cole had personally selected for her.
Waiting in the spacious foyer was Nora, holding a tray of freshly baked lemon cookies—her specialty.
“Welcome home, Mrs. Ashworth,” Nora said warmly, stepping forward to help her settle in.
Martha smiled brightly, patting Nora’s hand. “Oh, sweetie, call me Martha. And these cookies smell heavenly.”
From the corner of the grand living room, a heavy, familiar thud echoed against the hardwood floor. Moose lumbered over, his massive tail wagging like a helicopter blade, stopping right in front of Martha. He let out a low, happy huff, nudging his giant black head against her knee.
Martha laughed—a rich, genuine sound that hadn't echoed in these halls in a decade. She dropped her cane, knelt down with surprising agility, and wrapped her arms around the massive mastiff’s thick neck, burying her face in his fur.
“My good boy,” she whispered. “You brought him home, didn't you?”
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Cole stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the sunlight pour over them. For the first time in his life, the cold armor he wore felt lighter. The empire he had built no longer felt like a cage of cold steel and paper money.
It felt like a home.
