Page 111 of Under Southern Stars
I’m not proud of the impulse, but I can’t deny the momentary, hollow satisfaction it had brought.
The walk back to the guest house seems endless. The night air is cool on my flushed cheeks, the sprawling estate grounds stretching before me in the darkness. So much space, so much land, so much everything. And he’d hidden it all from me, watching me struggle with bills and budget worries without saying a word.
When I finally reach the guest house, Madison is sprawled on the sofa, her phone in hand, texting rapidly.
“There you are!” she exclaims, looking up. “I was about to text you. I’m starving. Do you think they have, like, room service or something? Or should we go to the main house for dinner?”
The thought of facing Jack and his family over a formal dinner makes my stomach clench. “Let’s see what we can find here first,” I suggest, relieved to discover a fully stocked kitchen with enough provisions to feed us for a week.
“Whoa,” Madison says, opening the refrigerator. “Look at all this cheese! And what’s this?” She pulls out a package wrapped in butcher paper.
“Manuka ham,” I read from the label. “It’s a local specialty. Honey-cured, I think.”
“No turkey?” Madison asks, rummaging further.
“I don’t think they really do deli turkey here,” I explain, finding a loaf of fresh-baked bread that looks like it had been delivered that day. “How about sandwiches? This bread looks amazing.”
Madison helps me prepare a simple meal, slicing bread and arranging a platter with several kinds of cheese, the ham, and crisp apples. When I take my first bite of a sharp, aged cheddar, I involuntarily close my eyes.
“Oh my God,” I murmur. “This is incredible.”
“Right?” Madison is already assembling her second sandwich. “Everything here is, like, next-level fancy. Even the butter tastes better.”
We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the simple pleasure of good food providing a brief respite from the emotional turmoil.
“So,” Madison finally says, wiping crumbs from her mouth, “did you talk to Jack?”
The question punctures the momentary peace. “Yes.”
“And?” She watches me expectantly.
“And I told him I need time to think,” I say, my tone making it clear I don’t want to elaborate.
She studies me with that unnervingly perceptive teenage gaze. “Are you still mad?”
“It’s complicated, Madison.”
“You always say that,” she sighs. “But I think you should talk to him more, you know? He seemed really sorry in that text.”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
“I’m going to FaceTime Chloe before it gets too late back home,” she announces, sensing I’m not ready to discuss it further. “Is that okay?”
“Of course,” I say, relieved for the reprieve. “I think I’ll take a shower and head to bed early.”
Madison hesitates, then gives me a quick, fierce hug. “It’ll be okay, Mom. Whatever you decide about Jack…it’ll be okay.”
The simple assurance from my fifteen-year-old daughter nearly breaks me. “I know, baby. Thank you.”
“I love you,” she says, squeezing me one more time before heading to her room.
“I love you too.”
The moment Madison’s door clicks shut, the composure I’d been maintaining all day shatters. I make it to the bathroom justin time, closing the door behind me before the first sob tears from my throat. I fumble with the shower knobs, turning the water on full blast to mask the sounds of my breakdown.
I sink to the floor, back against the cool tile, and let the grief consume me.
Not just for this betrayal, but for what it represents—another failure of judgment. Another man who had created a careful fiction for me to fall for, hiding the reality of who he was. The shame burns hot and bitter, tears streaming down my face as I hug my knees to my chest.
