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It should make me happy, but all I want to do is cry.
37
Cole
Silver hasn’t said a word the entire way.
She’s slumped in her seat, staring out the window and trying her hardest not to break down.
It’s like she’s there but isn’t.
Not really.
She left a part of herself at that doctor’s office. I know, because I left a part of me too.
For a moment, I allowed myself to consider the prospect of becoming a father. Despite what I told her on the plane, my vision of fatherhood appeared a lot like blood in a pool.
Being a father meant becoming my own version of William and I would never be that fucking man.
However, the idea of being the father of Silver’s children… Well, that’s an entirely different thing altogether.
I started plotting where we’d go. How we’d live. All of it.
I started picturing a future where I wouldn’t have to sneak into her room or pull her into a dark corner to be able to touch her.
A future where she’s all mine in front of the world.
The doctor killed it. He aborted a dream that hadn’t fully formed yet.
Not knowing what to say or how to say it, I remain silent. I’ve always loved silence — it allows me to read in peace and let my thoughts be loud. Silence is my sanctuary.
Not now.
Now, I want to slice through it with a knife and end it once and for fucking all.
By the time we arrive to Lucien’s house, it’s almost evening.
Silver steps out of the car like a robot, hugging her bag, as I follow after. A butler greets us in front of the property. It’s built near the cliff of a beach. The nearby town is visible from here, but it’s far enough that no one would wander around the house.
Lucien must be a private man.
“Bonsoir,” a butler greets us at the entrance with a welcoming smile and motions at Silver’s bag. “S’ill vous plait.”
She hands him the bag and asks in a tired voice, “Where’s Mum?”
“Madame Davis?” I ask when he seems to be lost. I doubt he didn’t understand; he must be one of those French people who refuses to acknowledge any language other than their own. The level of his snobbishness is similar to Ronan’s favourite butler, Lars.
“Ah, oui. Madame Davis a retourné à l’Angleterre avec Monsieur Lucien.”
Really? Cynthia went back to England with Lucien without telling her daughter about it?
“What?” Silver retrieves her phone and winces. “Ugh. I forgot it’s on airplane mode.” She dials a number, then places the device to her ear. “Mum? Where are you?”
Silver paces the entrance while the butler just stands there, completely oblivious to the scene.
“I’m already in freaking France. Lucien must’ve told you I was coming. How could you leave?” She listens for a second. “It’s always emergencies this, work that. What about me, Mum? Me? Have you ever thought about me in all the decisions you make?”
Realising she snapped at her mother, she quickly backpedals. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…okay… Talk to you later.”
