Chapter 9 - Whispers of Tomorrow
The evening air was cool and crisp as I walked along the gravel paths of the estate garden. The strawberry patch Emma and I had planted months ago was now bursting with bright red fruit, small baskets of which sat proudly on our kitchen counter.
My father walked beside me, his hands tucked into the pockets of his wool overcoat.
“You did well today, Sarah,” he said quietly, looking out over the manicured lawns. “Your mother would have been extraordinarily proud of you.”
“Thank you, Dad,” I murmured, leaning slightly against his arm. “For everything. For coming through those doors when the world was ending.”
“I told you long ago,” he smiled softly, pressing his hand over mine. “When a Sterling is in trouble, the whole world stops until they are safe.”
Upstairs on the second-floor balcony, the French doors cracked open, and Emma’s bright voice rang out into the twilight.
“Mom! Grandpa! Dinner is ready! We made pasta!”
May you like
We both laughed, turning toward the warm glow of the manor windows.
The nightmare in the kitchen felt like a lifetime ago—a distant, fractured memory from another reality. In this new world, the floors were solid, the accounts were secure, and the future belonged entirely to us.
