Chapter 10 : A painful Rememberance

Silence fell like a heavy curtain over the garden as Jedidiah entered the space, his presence alone casting a stillness over the murmurs and movements that had occupied the courtyard seconds ago. His steps were deliberate, each one landing with quiet authority. The crunch of gravel beneath his polished leather shoes echoed like distant thunder, drawing every gaze toward him as though gravity itself shifted with his entrance.

His suit, tailored in midnight black, was sharp and immaculate, contrasting the soft candlelight that flickered atop the long, rectangular table. Black roses weaved intricately through silver candelabras, their flames casting gentle halos across wine glasses and untouched plates. Shadows danced across the grieving faces of those seated, each one caught in varying degrees of discomfort, reverence, or uncertainty.

Jedidiah's dark eyes, deep and unreadable, scanned the table. His gaze moved from face to face with the precision of a surgeon, until it landed on the one empty seat — the chair beside Dr. Raymond. The chair meant for Alice.

Without a word, he walked toward it. The chair creaked under his weight, the only sound brave enough to interrupt the stillness. He leaned back, his hands folded neatly in his lap. Across from him, Dr. Raymond exhaled — not out of relief or tension, but something quieter, older. A breath loaded with memories.

Dr. Raymond stood slowly, the air shifting around him as he rose with the solemn dignity of a man who bore the weight of both memory and legacy. He wore a black three-piece suit, impeccably tailored. A thin silver chain glinted faintly beneath his vest, a crucifix tucked close to his heart. He cleared his throat once, and when he spoke, his voice carried with quiet authority.

"Good evening, everyone," he began, his deep baritone slicing cleanly through the lingering silence. "Today is not just another gathering. Today marks the ninth year… since we lost someone irreplaceable."

He paused, swallowing something that refused to go down — grief, perhaps, or a memory too sharp.

"A woman whose light touched each of us in a different way. Mrs. Roseline… my wife. A devoted mother. A grandmother. A woman whose strength and kindness shaped the very foundation of this family. She was more than a matriarch. She was our compass."

Heads bowed instinctively. Some closed their eyes, lips moving in silent prayer. Others let tears fall freely, making no effort to hide them. The pain of her absence lingered, still raw after all these years.

Dr. Raymond's eyes drifted toward the center of the garden. There, encircled by low marble borders and an arch of lavender and ivory roses, stood the grave of Roseline. The white marble headstone gleamed beneath the garden lights, bearing her name in delicate gold script.

The garden itself was a work of art — elegant fountains babbled nearby, and angelic statues watched over the stone pathways. Roseline had loved nature, adored beauty in all its forms, and her final resting place was an embodiment of that love.

One by one, friends and family members took turns rising to speak. Each voice added a thread to the tapestry of her memory.

Pete's voice trembled with laughter as he recalled a childhood winter. "She jumped into a frozen pond to save a neighbor's dog… tore her fur coat, ruined her heels. But all she cared about was that the dog was safe."

The table chuckled softly, warmth returning to their expressions.

Sophia shared, "Grandma used to sneak me sugar cubes in her purse when no one was looking. Then she'd tell me fairy tales till two in the morning, even though I had school the next day. I never wanted those nights to end."

Even stoic Michael, rarely one to speak much at all, stood with a folded paper in his hand. His voice cracked halfway through a short poem he had written. It wasn't eloquent, but it was honest, and that honesty bled into every line.

But through it all, Jedidiah and Alice remained silent.

Alice sat with her hands folded tightly in her lap, her nails digging into her skin. Her eyes were glassy, locked somewhere far away. Her lips were pressed into a tight line as if holding back a thousand words and regrets.

Jedidiah's gaze never strayed from the headstone. His jaw was clenched, nostrils flaring slightly every few seconds, as though steadying himself against the tide of memories that threatened to pull him under.

In his mind, a single moment replayed on loop — the last conversation he had with Mrs. Roseline.

She had held his hand, her skin paper-thin but still warm. Her voice had been soft, almost a whisper. "They'll never understand you, not until it's too late," she had said. "But remember, my boy, being misunderstood does not make you wrong."

The memory hit like a wave, and Jedidiah blinked rapidly.

When the final tribute had been spoken, the group stood and slowly moved toward the gravesite. The procession was quiet, reverent. Candles were lit one by one. Flowers were gently laid atop the soil. Some knelt to say a prayer. Others simply stood with clasped hands and bowed heads.

Jedidiah remained at the back, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the headstone. He didn't move. Didn't speak. In his mind, he whispered:

You were the only one who believed in me, even when no one else did. Even when I didn't believe in myself.

Beside him, Alice whispered silently to herself.

I wish I could've said goodbye properly. I wish I had made things right with you before you left. I'm sorry. So sorry.

When the last candle flickered into stillness, the group slowly returned to the long garden table. Waiters in crisp black vests emerged from the manor, moving like shadows. They poured wine into tall crystal glasses, served elegantly plated meals. But no one reached for their food.

The air was still too heavy.

Forks scraped plates. Glasses clinked softly. Someone sobbed quietly into their napkin.

Then, a vibration broke the hush.

Jedidiah reached into his pocket and glanced at his phone. His eyes scanned the message quickly. Then he leaned toward Dr. Raymond, his voice low.

"I need a moment," he said.

Dr. Raymond gave a subtle nod. Together, they stood and exited through a stone archway that led to a quiet corridor on the far side of the estate.

Back at the table, the silence didn't last long.

Tension — thick, sharp, and ready — began to rise.

Alice reached for her water, but her fingers trembled so much she knocked the glass slightly. Sophia, seated beside her, noticed and placed a steadying hand on her arm.

"You okay?" she whispered.

"I don't know," Alice murmured, her voice barely audible.

Then, like poison dropped into a still well, a voice shattered the calm.

"I'm sure Mrs. Roseline would be unhappy seeing Jedidiah and Alice here," Kate said, loud and clear.

Gasps. Eyes widened. Heads turned.

Alice's entire body tensed.

Sophia rose slowly from her seat. Her tone was icy. "Excuse me?"

Kate didn't back down. Her smirk deepened. "Come on. We all know the chaos they bring. One was a disgrace to the family name. The other? A walking scandal."

"That's enough," Sophia said through gritted teeth. Her voice trembled with barely restrained fury. "Kate, you are not even part of this family yet. So. Stay. On. Your. Lane."

Kate scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Look who's talking. Miss 'Perfect Daughter.'"

Sophia's lip curled. "At least I don't have a coconut for a head."

Pete chuckled darkly. "Kennedith always had bad taste in women," he muttered under his breath.

Kennedith flinched. "And you're one to talk, Pete. Chasing after your friend's girl like it's a damn game."

Kate chimed in, "Exactly. And you, Pete — why are you even here? You're irrelevant. Always trying to insert yourself."

Pete's eyes darkened. "Funny, coming from someone whose only value is who she sleeps with."

Kate turned sharply. "Kennedith, are you going to let him talk to me like that?"

Kennedith looked down at the table. "Maybe you shouldn't have started it," he muttered.

Kate's jaw dropped slightly. "Unbelievable."

Across the table, Aquileia stood without a word and walked off toward the garden entrance. Her heels clicked across the stone path. Hayden followed moments later.

"Aquileia, wait," he called.

She didn't stop until he reached her. When she turned, her steps faltered.

"Sorry," she muttered.

He reached out instinctively. "No — wait. Please. I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I mean it."

She stared at the ground. "Do you think sorry fixes everything?"

"I... I don't know."

She shook her head, her voice trembling. "Do you know what they say about me? Behind my back? Do you know what they whisper every time I walk past?"

"I never meant for—"

"You broke something in me, Hayden." Her voice cracked. "And I don't know if it can ever be fixed."

She walked away.

Back at the table, Kate raised her voice again. "Honestly? If anyone's to blame for Roseline's death, it's probably Alice."

The world froze.

Aquileia's heart stopped. She rushed forward, grabbing Kate's arm. Her voice was a harsh whisper. "Are you insane? Don't say that in front of Dr. Raymond. Those words are taboo. If he hears you—"

Kate pulled her arm away, unimpressed.

Kennedith stood so fast his chair fell. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Alice flinched visibly, her body curling inward.

Sophia wrapped her arms around her sister. "Don't listen to her," she whispered fiercely. "She's nothing. She means nothing."

Kate, undeterred, turned her venom toward Aquileia.

"And you. What are you even doing here? You embarrassed Hayden. Then Jedidiah. Now you're with my son. What's your plan? Trade up again?"

Aquileia's lips trembled, but she said nothing.

Then—"SILENCE!"

The voice roared like a cannon.

Dr. Raymond had returned. At his side stood Jedidiah, eyes colder than ice.

"Everyone. Sit," Dr. Raymond said.

No one disobeyed.

He turned to Hayden. "Have you made that apology yet?"

Hayden shook his head. "Not yet."

"You have until 10 a.m. tomorrow. You will apologize to Alice. And Jedidiah. In front of the staff. In the media. Publicly."

He turned to Alice. "Are you alright?"

Alice stood shakily. "May I… be excused?"

"Of course."

Kate smirked.

Dr. Raymond's stare turned her blood cold.

"You insulted my daughter. The man who built the empire you benefit from. Kennedith — were it not for the children you share with Alice, you'd be disowned."

He turned to Pete. "You. Defend the woman you love — or leave her."

Then to Kate: "Your privileges are revoked. No apology? You'll live here as a maid."

Gasps.

Kate's face drained of color. "You can't—"

"I can. I will."

No one came to her defense.

Outside, Alice searched her bag. "My purse…"

"Looking for this?" Jedidiah held it out.

She hesitated, took it gently. "Thank you."

He stared at her. "Did you ever find out the truth about your father?"

She nodded.

"Then you know what you have to do."

She blinked away tears. "Jedidiah… I'm sorry. For everything."

He gave a faint smile. "It's in the past."

"Thank you… again."

He nodded once. Walked away.

Later, Sophia stepped out. Jedidiah said softly, "She already left."

Sophia nodded and followed the same path.

The night began in silence.It ended with truth exposed, ties broken, hearts aching.

And the rain began to fall — gently — over Mrs. Roseline's garden, the only place where peace still lingered.

Outside, the rain had thickened to a steady rhythm, each drop a soft percussion against the stone pathway. Jedidiah didn't mind. He walked slowly beneath the weeping sky, his coat gradually soaking through, the water running down his face and hair. But he didn't move to cover himself.

His footsteps echoed against the stone as he wandered further into the estate gardens, away from the estate lights, toward the small iron bench Roseline used to sit on. It was nestled beneath a weeping willow she had once planted with him when he was just a boy.

He paused.

The memories came uninvited but sharp — her hands guiding his as they buried the sapling, her warm laughter echoing through the trees, the way she always made time for him when no one else did. When the world rejected him, Roseline had embraced him.

"You're not like them, and that's your strength," she once whispered to him after one of his darkest days.

Jedidiah swallowed hard, his throat tight. He blinked against the raindrops, but one tear fell freely, carving a hot trail down his cheek before the rain washed it away.

Elsewhere in Alice residence, Sophia caught up with Alice after chasing her with a cab to her house. Without a word, she opened her arms, and Alice collapsed into her. No more strength to pretend. No more silence to hold back.

The tears came violently.

"I'm tired," Alice choked out between sobs. "I've tried to be strong for so long."

"I know," Sophia whispered, her voice cracking. "You don't have to do it alone anymore."

They stood there, the rain soaking through their clothes, but neither moved. The storm around them mirrored the one inside, but in that embrace, there was something solid — a beginning of healing, no matter how fragile.