Filed to story: Seventeen Heartbreaks: When Love Has No Voice
“Miss Nixon, I swear, from now on, I’ll stand by you-no hesitation, no second thoughts. Whatever you need, just say the word.”
Then, after a beat, Charli added with a small, rueful smile, “Anything, as long as it’s not helping you escape from here.”
Leila’s gaze flickered, a shadow crossing her face. She gestured for Charli to rise and step closer. Her voice dropped.
“I’m not thinking about leaving anymore. I know it’s impossible.” She exhaled slowly, as if she had already accepted the weight of her reality.
“Over time, I’ve come to terms with it. I won’t pretend I’m happy, but what choice do I have? My marriage is strained, yes. But the truth is, Gracelyn’s grandson’s death… It’s connected to my husband.”
Leila looked away, her expression unreadable.
“I might as well bear the guilt. At least, that way, my children can live in peace.”
Then, in a sudden shift, Leila stretched lazily, a wry smile tugging at her lips.
“Besides, life here isn’t all bad. No freedom, sure, but I don’t have to worry about anything.”
Charli, seeing Leila’s calm demeanor, finally relaxed.
Of course, Leila didn’t mean a word of what she’d said to Charli. She was playing the game. Charli had her uses, and Leila intended to take full advantage of that. In this house, kindness wasn’t just useless-it was a liability.
A weakness that could get her crushed.
As far as Leila was concerned, the White family was rotten to the core.
Charli had aligned herself with Leila for one reason only: she saw Leila as the lesser evil, someone with a gentle disposition who could shield her from Florrie’s cruelty.
Securing a little breathing room didn’t mean Leila could afford to relax. She needed to get out. And fast. Yet, Landon had reassured her-he would take care of everything. She just had to trust him.
Meanwhile, Gracelyn noticed that Calvert had been looking quite out of sorts lately. He had been slipping-his energy drained, his eyes hollow, his movements sluggish. The dark circles under his eyes told the story of a man haunted by something. For a doctor, he was doing a terrible job of looking after himself. Something was eating away at him.
Today was the day for checking on Damian White, Gracelyn’s husband. Damian lay motionless in his bed, barely a shadow of the man he used to be. If not for the faint rise and fall of his chest, he might have been mistaken for a corpse.
In contrast, Gracelyn looked somewhat younger. After all, she had ensured his decline. She had orchestrated everything-his paralysis, his suffering. A slow, drawn-out existence was the punishment she had chosen for him. And death? That would be too merciful. She had no intention of letting him go that easily.
Gracelyn traced a soft hand along Damian’s hollowed cheek, her touch almost tender.
“I haven’t had much time for you lately,” she murmured, her voice thick with feigned regret.
“The house has been so lively with guests. But now, it’s just us. Ever since our grandson died, then our son and daughter-in-law, we’re the only ones left. I only wanted our grandson back. Is that so wrong?”
She sighed, shaking her head as if wounded.
“And yet, instead of standing by me, you spoke of leaving, intent to abandon me.” A slow smile crept onto her lips, deceptively gentle.
“I had no choice, Damian. You forced my hand. This was the only way to keep you by my side.”
Damian’s eyes widened in silent horror, but his body betrayed him-completely still, paralyzed, a prisoner in his own flesh. The only sound that escaped was a faint, ragged rasp of despair.
Gracelyn, however, seemed utterly unfazed. If anything, she looked pleased.
“I knew you still cared,” she whispered, brushing his graying hair back.
“How could you possibly resent me forever?” Then, as if the thought had only just occurred to her, she straightened with a thoughtful hum.
“But suppose keeping you like this indefinitely isn’t quite right. Once you’ve come around, I’ll have Dr. Watson cure you.”
Gracelyn turned, her sharp gaze settling on Calvert. But something about him caught her attention. Calvert stood frozen, his posture rigid, his face eerily blank, but his eyes were filled with fear.
Gracelyn’s expression darkened, her warmth evaporating.
“Calvert, I’ve placed my trust in you and Florrie. I’ve been generous, haven’t I? But that doesn’t mean you can slack off.”
Hearing Gracelyn’s reprimand, Calvert snapped back to reality. A sharp shudder ran through him, and before he could stop himself, he nearly collapsed at her feet. His voice trembled as he scrambled to plead.
“P-please, ma’am… Don’t be angry. I haven’t been sleeping well. My mind… I wasn’t thinking clearly just now.”
Gracelyn’s sharp eyes locked onto Calvert. A thought flickered through her mind, and with a subtle wave of her hand, she beckoned him over. Calvert hesitated for only a moment before following her outside.
Lowering her voice, Gracelyn asked, “Are you and Florrie fighting?”
Calvert exhaled slowly, sidestepping the question.
“Mrs. White, every couple argues now and then. Please, don’t be upset-I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
A cold, knowing smile tugged at Gracelyn’s lips.
“You’ve been with me long enough to understand how I operate. If you continue to act absent-mindedly around me, tell me-why should I keep you here?”
Panic flashed across Calvert’s face.
“Mrs. White, I swear it won’t happen again. Just this once-please, let it slide.”
Gracelyn’s expression turned icy, her gaze stripping him of all dignity.
“And why should I? If I let this go, you’ll assume it doesn’t matter. You’ll keep testing your limits, thinking you can get away with it.” Her voice sharpened.
“I don’t tolerate incompetence. If you can’t handle your role, then leave.”
Calvert’s throat tightened. Desperation swelled in his chest, but Gracelyn’s steely resolve made it clear-she wasn’t bluffing. Left with no other choice, he swallowed his pride and finally decided to spill the truth.
Calvert took a shaky breath.
“Mrs. White, even if you want to cast me out, at least hear me out first. The reason I’ve been so distracted is because I saw a ghost.” He swallowed hard before adding, “And that ghost is your grandson-the one you’ve been longing for.”
Gracelyn, already turning away, froze mid-step. Slowly, she pivoted back, her piercing gaze locking onto Calvert like a blade at his throat.
“Do you understand what happens if I find out you’re lying?” A slow, sinister smile curled her lips.
“I’ll make your life a living nightmare.”
Calvert’s breath hitched, but he stood his ground, shaking his head frantically.
“I’m not lying. I swear-I saw him. If I’m making this up, you can end me right here. Besides, I have no reason to deceive you about this.” His voice dropped as he bowed his head, awaiting her verdict.
The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.
When Calvert finally dared to glance up, he saw the unthinkable-tears shimmering in Gracelyn’s eyes.
“My grandson… You miss me, don’t you?” A choked sob escaped Gracelyn.
“You came back for me. I miss you too… Why won’t you let me see you?”
Calvert exhaled, relieved that she believed him-until her next words cut through his moment of solace like ice.
“If you saw him, then there must be a way for me to see him too,” she murmured, regaining her composure. Her gaze snapped to Calvert, sharp and unyielding.
“And if I can’t, then you’re lying.”
The blood drained from Calvert’s face. He wasn’t lying. He had actually seen her grandson’s spirit. But how could he know why her grandson only appeared to him and Leila, and not to others? He had no answers. He was just an ordinary man-how was he supposed to command a ghost to appear at will?
This was impossible.
Yet, Gracelyn didn’t care about impossibilities. She only cared about one thing: seeing her grandson again. Years of longing had hollowed her heart, and now that she had the faintest hope, she refused to let it slip away. Calvert’s silence only fueled her frustration.