Page 21 of When Forever Falls Apart

“What?” She raises her voice, pretending to be shocked. “No hot French men who made your panties drop?”

“How can I say this nicely? Plenty of panty droppers, but my head wasn’t in it.” I trail off, ignoring my shallow breathing. “Anyways, see you soon.”

We end the call, and my thoughts rewind to my time in Europe. There were men everywhere, and men whom I normally would drool over. But the truth is, my confidence was shot, and nothing felt natural. They flirted, I flirted back, but nothing ignited the flame inside of me.

And who would want a runaway bride anyway?

I am damaged goods. The type you return for a refund.

The roads become wider and houses farther and fewer between. In the distance, I begin to see the outline of the mountains. I open the window, allowing the warm summer breeze to caress my face as the scent of wild grass lingers in the air. A favorite song of mine, “Unwritten,” plays over the speaker, and without thinking, I belt out the lyrics as if my life depends on it.

The trees become closer, and the road begins to wind, then the familiar outskirts of Cinnamon Springs are visible in the distance.

My first port of call is my house—or should I say, myfather’shouse, since my parents are in the middle of a nasty divorce. I want to grab a few things since I’m staying at Eva’s place.

TheWelcome to Cinnamon Springssign is just ahead, prompting me to slow down. As I drive down Wafer Way, a popular street for shopping, the familiar stores are just asI remember. The town doesn’t have much, but it does have plenty of boutique stores, which tourists love.

People stroll along the pavement, some by themselves and others in groups. It feels like I was here a lifetime ago, yet in the same breath, it feels like I never left.

A sudden, blaring engine roar shatters my thoughts, snapping me back to reality. I steal a glance in the rearview mirror to see a motorcycle tailgating, and the rider’s face is obscured behind a tinted visor. The douche is so far up my ass—if I brake suddenly, he’d be roadkill.

“Grow a pair!” I yell out the window, refraining from sticking up my finger as he speeds past me. “Honestly, the smallest dick ever.”

With my mood now sour, I veer a sharp right and head toward the Beaumont Manor. The sun hangs high in the sky as I manoeuvre the car onto the gravel driveway, the crunch of stones beneath the tires marking my arrival. I usually stop for a quick meal or at least coffee on the way, but today I opted to drive straight here to get it over and done with.

As I step out of the car, I stretch my limbs, feeling the warm summer breeze wrap around me like a long-lost friend, but something feels different. The once-majestic home, where I spent my entire childhood, appears dull and unkempt. Long vines spread across the stone, almost covering the wooden arched front door. On closer inspection, the large windows are covered in cobwebs, like a haunted house from a movie.

I clutch my key tightly and step onto the porch to open the door.

With a forceful twist, I push it open as the hinges groan in protest.

Inside, heavy drapes shroud the windows and darkness surrounds me. The absence of light fills me with uncertainty.

“Hello?” I call out, only to hear my voice echo throughout the home.

My father usually keeps the housekeeper and gardener employed, but everything appears untouched. I take my phone out of my pocket to call him, even though it’s been months. No surprise, it rings out until I reach his voicemail. “Dad, it’s me, Maddy. I’m back in Cinnamon Springs and at the manor. Please give me a call when you get a chance.”

I hang up the phone and dash up the creaking wooden stairs to my room that once felt like a refuge. Everything is exactly as I left it, preserved like a time capsule. The floral pink bedspread features delicate petals and a soft cotton texture. My bookshelves stand proudly, filled with books I once loved to read—a whole set ofBaby-Sitters Cluband Judy Blume, which was my entire puberty phase.

The lingering scent of sage, rose, and lavender dances in the air, a remnant of a once-flickering candle that warmed the room.

A bittersweet smile crosses my lips, but it quickly fades as memories crash over me like cold waves. I remember the nights I would lock my bedroom door, then run and hide beneath my covers because my parents would raise their voices. My father would stumble through the house with the pungent smell of alcohol trailing behind him, while my mother would desperately try to guide him to bed. It always escalated into a sputter of hurtful words. And then, just as abruptly, silence would blanket our home, a deceptive calm that promised a new day would erase it all.

The secrets, lies, and deceit would all come out eventually.

And they did, all because of me.

My hand slips into my pocket to retrieve my phone. Instinctively, I dial Mom’s number, hoping she’ll pick up.

“Madelina?” Mom answers softly, the familiar voice only slightly calming my racing thoughts.

“Mom, I’m at the manor.”

A small silence stretches between us.

“Oh sweetheart. It’s a lot, I know.”

I take it all in again, the life we built here and how it shaped the path we followed to this day, but I can’t stop thinking about all the years Mom sacrificed her happiness for us. Stayed in a loveless marriage for her children.