Page 54 of The Clifftop Cottage

Leah hesitated.

She did love this place. Sometimes she forgot that – forgot how much of their life was folded into these walls. Maisie had been born here, after all, in the same room where they were sitting now. Dylan had been home that night, somehow, holding a cold cloth to her forehead, whispering encouragement through the pain.

And then Maisie had arrived – red-faced and furious, fists clenched, her cry filling the house. Dylan had cried too, laughing and shaking as he kept saying She’s perfect. Leah, she’s perfect, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

She swallowed, the memory still warm and tender despite everything.

And she did love her job, even on the hardest days.

But something still felt … off.

“Okay we are struggling,” she said finally. “And I see it more and more, especially when I’m around the other wives.”

Dylan frowned.

“They don’t work. They don’t have to work. They live in these beautiful modern houses with driveways big enough for all their flashy cars.”

“You never cared about all that.”

“Well, now I feel like we don’t have much. We’re still paying off that debt, and both of us are working every hour we can …”

Dylan’s expression darkened. “You’ll never forgive me for that, will you?”

Leah inhaled sharply, holding onto her calm. “I said I did.” But even to her own ears, the words sounded tired, worn thin. “I just find it remarkable that we’re still paying off those credit cards.”

“It was a big expense,” he muttered.

“Come on, Dylan. A boat isn’t all that debt.” Her voice stayed even, but inside, something twisted. “Your friends have boats and everything else.”

Dylan looked at her directly now, his posture stiffening. “What are you saying?”

Leah met his gaze, steady, unreadable. “I’m saying …” She exhaled, voice soft but firm. “I don’t think it all went to the boat. I think you spent it on something else … and you just haven’t told me.”

“You think I’d lie about something like that?”

Leah let out a breath through her nose, slow and measured. Instead of answering, she stood, collecting the empty mugs. The sound of porcelain clinking was louder than she expected.

She took them to the kitchen, turned on the tap, and watched the water swirl down the drain.

Behind her, Dylan didn’t move. He didn’t speak.

Leah stared out the window. She should answer him. She should fight, or demand the truth. Something.

But she didn’t say anything.

20

Erica watched as Gabriel’s van skidded away, the tyres kicking up loose gravel as it sped down the narrow track. From the kitchen window, she followed its tail lights until they disappeared around the bend, swallowed by the trees. Something lodged in her stomach – not quite guilt, not quite anger, but a cold, unsettled mix of both.

All that over Wi-Fi.

She replayed the conversation, the way his voice had hardened, the way he’d looked at her as if she’d crossed some invisible line she hadn’t even known was there.

Maybe he was right. Maybe she had been too caught up in London life to see what really mattered here. But surely, he’d call again, wouldn’t he? Apologise, explain. It had to be a misunderstanding. Yes, that was it.

Shaking off the thought, she turned back to work, absently scratching behind Lucky’s ears as her laptop screen filled with dense text. She had unearthed records on eight more women accused of witchcraft in the same area, but still no mention of Isobel. A dead end, or a sign she needed to dig deeper?

Erica breathed out, rubbing her eyes. She was doing that thing again – slipping too far inside work until the rest of the world went slightly out of focus. It was comforting in its own way. And right now, it was easier than thinking about Gabriel.