Happy People

Alexandria's POV

The night was cold and suffocating, wrapping me like an unwelcome embrace. Sleep had long abandoned me, refusing to grant me even a moment of peace. Whenever I closed my eyes, I found myself pulled back into the depths of a torment that had haunted me for months. Scars served as proof of what had been lost and of why she had returned. 

Standing outside her door, I hesitated, knowing it was past midnight and she was likely asleep. Yet something in me refused to walk away. Slowly, I pushed open the door. The moonlight streamed in, casting a soft glow over her pale skin. Even in the darkness, she was breathtaking. But beauty alone was not what made her special—it was the light she once carried within a light that had faded away. 

Her smile used to capture hearts, even those of strangers, but now it was a rare sight. Her eyes, once full of warmth, held only cold detachment. She didn't just resent the Camfreys or her parents—her hatred extended to me as well. If given the choice, she would leave without second glance. But why should it be her who had to leave?

The moonlight highlighted the gentle contour of her face, drawing me closer. I couldn't resist reaching out, brushing my fingers against her soft lips and her chilled cheeks. Sitting beside her, I took her warm hands in mine, letting memories wash over me.

"You were once so full of life," I whispered. "Always rushing home from school, unfazed by your family's wealth and your sister's extravagance. Those days were peaceful. I wish you had never crossed paths with him. I wish you'd stayed with your grandparents, away from the chaos. Away from what transpired that night." Silence consumed my words. I moved to the balcony, staring at the vast sky. The stars and moon twirled freely, unburdened by the world's cruelty. If only we could be like them—capable of love, choice, and existence without pain. But life was not so kind.

Taking her to the Camfrey's ball had been a mistake. I hated seeing Edward's hands on her, hated hearing Samantha's shrill screams echo through the hall. But Ian had been right…. There was no hiding her forever. She wasn't meant to live in darkness. She was a bird with bright, vibrant feathers. Yet now, she was caged. And I had been the one to close the door.

Dawn crept over the horizon by the time I left her room. In the garden, Ian sat with a cup of coffee,, his eyes scanning the morning newspaper."What did Tribune write this time?" I asked, pulling out a chair. Sighing, he tossed the paper towards me without a word. His silence spoke volumes.

"Is the mummy back to life, or is something more sinister lurking behind closed doors?" I read aloud. A scoff escaped me. The press knew better than to directly attack the Hale family. "I wish they'd written more. Samantha deserves to be dragged into the light." Ian chuckled. 

"She's made enemies of more people than she can handle. It's only a matter of time." I sipped my coffee, watching the roses dance in the morning breeze. Usually, I handled business from home, avoiding the public eye. But today was different. If she was to establish herself as Mrs. Hale, she needed to be seen and admired.

"How about visiting Mary's Motherless Baby Home?" I suggested. "It's been a while since I checked in on the kids," Ian smirked knowingly and stood. From behind, I felt the weight of her gaze burning into me. Those pearl-like eyes of hers no longer shone with curiosity or warmth…. Only resentment. Turning, I saw her at her window, her face half-hidden in the shadows. The moment our eyes met, she slammed it shut. But not before I caught the slight flush on her cheeks from the cold morning air.

I wished she could wake up with her old glow, with dreams still intact. But she was merely a ghost of the girl she once was. A walking reminder of what had been taken.

By the time I was ready, she stood at her door, wearing a simple yellow gown that hugged her figure perfectly, though she seemed to shrink within it. She never walked beside me… always a step behind, as though she wanted to disappear into my shadow. The ride was quiet, tension heavy in the air. I finally broke the silence.

"Have you been there before?" She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "Two years ago... right before I got married." The weight of her words settled between us. Of course, it was as I had suspected. Her last visit had been just before the night everything changed. The car pulled into the familiar courtyard, where children ran toward us with laughter and open arms. Their joy was contagious, yet she remained unmoved, her expression distant.

Leaning closer, I murmured, "You should smile more often. The kids love happy people." She didn't respond, but for a brief moment, her lips trembled as if she wanted to. Then, just as quickly, the moment passed. As we stepped out, the children swarmed around us, their little hands reaching for hers. Although she hesitated, the softest spark of warmth returned to her gaze as she knelt beside them. It was fleeting. But it was a start, and I would make sure she never lost that light again.