Page 70 of The Weight of Her Silence
Chapter 42
The Last Light
The morning was unusually warm for late autumn. Sunlight spilled through the open windows, golden and soft, and the breeze carried the smell of the roses Lila had once planted along the backyard fence. They had bloomed unexpectedly this year—vibrant, stubborn things. She liked to think they were blooming for her.
She sat outside on the garden bench, wrapped in her cream shawl, a knitted gift from Ava on her last birthday. Her skin was pale now, almost translucent in the sun, and her breaths came a little slower than they used to.
But there was a strange kind of peace in her expression—like she had finally made peace with the time she had left.
Caleb and Ava sat on either side of her.
He held her hand. She braided Ava’s hair, slowly, carefully, as if she were memorizing the shape of each strand.
No one talked about what was coming.
They talked about favorite stories instead. About how Caleb still remembered the time she made pancakes shaped like dinosaurs, and how Ava used to beg her to sing “Fieldsof Gold” when she had nightmares. Lila laughed softly, even though her body winced at the effort.
“I remember,” she said. “Everything. Every minute with you two.”
Ava’s eyes welled with tears, but she blinked them away. “We remember too.”
They sat like that for hours, soaking in the quiet, the sun, the presence of each other. Lila kissed the tops of their heads more times than she could count. She asked Caleb to read to her from his favorite book, and she closed her eyes while he did, as if letting the sound of his voice imprint on her soul.
When the sun began to dip, Lila pulled them close.
“No matter what happens,” she whispered, “you carry my love with you. Always. You are the best parts of me. And I will always be proud.”
Ava was crying by then, full tears that streaked silently down her cheeks. Caleb leaned into her side, trying to stay brave.
They didn’t talk about Nate.
They didn’t talk about goodbye.
They didn’t need to.
Camille
The penthouse felt too quiet. Camille paced the living room barefoot, her phone clutched tightly in her hand. The silence was maddening. She had sent messages—calls, texts, even emails—but Nate hadn’t responded. Not once.
She had risked everything showing up like that. She’d given him an ultimatum, made her feelings clear. And what had it earned her?
Silence.
Worse—humiliation.
The kids had seen her. Lila had stood in front of her like a ghost refusing to leave. And Nate... he had looked at her like she was the mistake he could never undo.
She threw her phone across the room.
The crash echoed, the screen splintering against the wall. Her hands trembled. Her lips parted in disbelief. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end.
She had been there for him when Lila drifted. When their marriage cracked. She had waited through holidays, missed birthdays, and ten years of promises that never quite came true. Ten years of being almost enough.
And now she was being discarded like nothing?
Her nails dug into her palms. “She’s dying,” Camille whispered bitterly. “She’s dying, and he still chooses her.”
A surge of fury rose in her chest. But beneath it, beneath the defiance, the bitterness, and the jealousy, was something far more dangerous.
