Wretched Love

Epilogue

TWO YEARS LATER

KATE

Preston diedon the same day I gave birth to our son.

Seriously.

He hung himself in his closet.

He was there for days before the police found him. Only because the gardener called them.

Not because anyone missed him.

There was no one left in his life to miss him.

His parents had disowned him.

Not something I’d ever expected them to do in a million years. He was their only son. Their golden boy. I believed that they never knew about the abuse, never saw the signs because they were blinded by a parents’ love. But I also figured that love would blind them from the truth. Would warp it in a way to make them be able to live with what their son was.

I expected them to hate me. I expected to mourn the loss of the only parents I’d ever had.

But one day, not long after our wedding day, I had a visitor.

Violet was working at the café. Apparently Julian had ‘vetted’ her and was impressed enough with her skills to let her work the coffee machine. Violet had never had a job in her life—something I’d gently fought with Preston about, but he wouldn’t dream of his daughter working—and I thought the romance of it might wear off quickly once the reality of the long days set in. But it didn’t. Violet loved working. She came home with bright eyes and messy hair, wired from it all.

Swiss was also out. On a run. I missed him already, even though he’d only been gone one night.

Having the house to myself was a treat too, though. Because it was mine. Because I was still puttering away with the garden, moving things here and there as we settled. I was also going through the graphics Violet made for the restaurant which were shockingly. She had true talent.

So my mind was on about a million things when I opened the door, expecting a UPS guy delivering one of the many online purchases I’d made.

But no.

It was Sally.

In a Chanel suit, clutching her purse and staring at me with tears in her eyes the second I opened the door. Those same eyes widened as she took in my sweatpants and tank, my messy hair and bare face.

In the time she’d known me, my mother-in-law had never seen me without an ‘appropriate’ outfit on and hair and makeup done.

Though I supposed she wasn’t my mother-in-law anymore.

I waited. For her eyes to sharpen with judgment. With malice. But instead, they softened, still filled with tears.

“Honey, you look beautiful,” she cried, pulling me into her arms.

I relaxed into the embrace, both out of shock and on instinct. I melted into the familiar smell of Chanel, her slight, delicate frame.

She didn’t release me for a long time, and once she did, I finally found my words. “How did you know I was here?”

“Violet,” she cleared her throat and daintily wiped her eyes. “She sent me a letter.”

I shook my head. Violet still believed in letters.

“Of course, she did,” I muttered. I folded my arms, leaning against the doorjamb. “What di—” I sighed. “What did the letter say?”

I wasn’t surprised that my daughter had tried to bring her grandmother here. She adored both of her grandparents, so I knew she wouldn’t be able to cut them off. But she’d also always be firmly on my side, and she had been ruminating on that enough to send a letter, telling her grandmother where to find me.