The scent of roasted coffee, buttered bread, and cinnamon tea wafted through the Ashbourne breakfast room. Sunlight poured through tall windows, gilding the white linen tablecloth and casting golden halos on the silverware. The clatter of porcelain and the occasional laughter from young Charles filled the room with a domestic charm that would've felt warm—had Jason's heart not been knotted in his chest.
He sat in silence, spoon in hand, pretending to stir his tea. Across the table, Adele was radiant in a pale blue day dress. Her chestnut hair was pulled back in a soft braid, a lock falling loosely along her cheek. She was smiling.
But Jason could see it.
A flicker in her gaze. A strain behind her lips.
A shadow.
She sat close to Henry, who—unusually—was in bright spirits. He was doting on her and Charles both, beaming with the pride of a man who believed himself whole.
"You've grown tall overnight, my boy!" Henry chuckled, playfully tugging on Charles's ear. "Soon you'll be riding the big horses!"
"I already am!" Charles giggled.
Jason gave a small smile. The boy's joy was real. So was the glimmer in Adele's eyes when she looked at her son. That, Jason thought, was the only place her soul seemed free.
"Uncle Jason?" Charles turned toward him, his small voice hopeful. "Can I visit your studio today?"
Jason blinked. "My… studio?"
"Yes! The one by the old orchard. They said no one goes there anymore." He leaned in like it was a secret. "They say it's locked, but I know you have the key."
Jason smiled genuinely this time, warmth breaking through. "I do."
"Will you teach me to draw?" the boy added. "Mama says you're better than all the painters who ever lived."
Adele turned her face quickly, hiding a soft blush.
Jason felt the twist in his chest deepen.
Before he could reply, Henry's voice cut in.
"You want to go there?" His tone was casual—too casual. "It's dusty, unused. Not fit for children."
"Please, Father?" Charles asked sweetly, clutching his napkin in tiny fingers.
Jason caught the flash in Henry's eyes—a flash of something dark, briefly buried beneath the mask.
Then… Henry smiled.
"Of course," he said smoothly. "Your uncle is a fine artist. Let him show you."
Jason inclined his head slightly in thanks, though his gaze didn't leave Henry's. A silent understanding passed between them: a warning cloaked in civility.
"In fact," Henry added, turning to Adele, "why don't we go out today? You and I. We'll visit the orchards. Have lunch by the lake. Just the two of us."
Jason felt the air in the room shift.
Adele blinked, startled, then offered a hesitant nod. "Yes, of course."
She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.
Jason knew this was no spontaneous outing. It was a move. A claim.
He watched as Henry placed a possessive hand over hers, lingering a second too long.
"You'll be in good hands, my boy," Henry told Charles. "Just don't come back covered in paint."
The table burst into laughter.
Except for Jason.
He couldn't join them. Not while watching the woman he loved being led away, dressed in smiles that no longer fit her.
As Charles tugged his hand toward the door, excited to explore the long-closed studio, Jason cast one last glance toward Adele.
She turned briefly to look back.
Their eyes met.
A second. A breath.
And then she was gone.