After Seven Empty Chairs, I Took My Daughter and Left Chapter 15

After Seven Empty Chairs, I Took My Daughter and Left Chapter 15

Bach’s cello suites flowed through the empty studio, the notes like invisible dust motes turning in the afternoon sun. Ava stood barefoot on the cool concrete floor, holding two color swatches in her hand: Dawn Gray and Sea Salt White. She compared them again and again against the half-painted wall.

In the end, she chose Sea Salt White. The color reminded her of sails on the Charles River, clean and free.

Everything here satisfied her. The air smelled of new wood and paint, sharp yet full of the joy of rebirth. She hadn’t thought of Noah and Sloane in a long time. Those two, along with that beautiful cage on Beacon Hill, seemed to belong to a previous life.

The music on the radio abruptly stopped, replaced by the steady voice of a weather forecaster reminding residents that showers were expected in the afternoon. Ava glanced out the window and decided to go home before it rained.

She had just stepped out of the studio when raindrops began to fall without warning. Boston rain was always like this, fine and stubborn. Ava hadn’t brought an umbrella, so she quickened her pace and turned into the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum at the corner.

It was her favorite place. She passed through the shadowed corridors and went straight to the famous indoor courtyard.

Rain tapped against the glass roof with a soft rustle, shutting out the noise of the world. In the courtyard, the flowers and greenery looked even brighter, washed clean by the rain. The air carried the damp scent of earth and blossoms. Ava found a bench beside a Roman sculpture and sat down quietly to listen to the rain.

The stillness was so beautiful it felt unreal, yet it also brought a faint, unexpected loneliness. She remembered countless nights waiting for Noah to come home at the Whitaker mansion. She remembered Lily’s dim eyes as she looked at that empty chair in court. The grievances she had deliberately suppressed now rose silently with the rain.

A warm tear slid down her cheek. She didn’t wipe it away. She let it fall onto the back of her hand, a silent farewell to the past.

Just then, a faint scent of cedar mixed with the smell of old books drifted near.

A low, gentle male voice sounded beside her, tinged with uncertain concern.

“Ava, do you need a tissue?”

Ava stiffened and abruptly raised her head.

A well-shaped hand was extended in front of her, its cuff immaculate. On the wrist was a classic Patek Philippe, its simple dial giving off a warm glow in the courtyard’s dim light.

In that beautiful hand was a neatly folded white handkerchief.