Act Like You Love Me (Jessica) novel Chapter 132

Chapter 132

Jessica’s POV

念61%

55 vouchers

Everything, absolutely everywhere, still smelled like her. It was in the floorboards, the curtains, the very air of the house.

It was the scent of lavender laundry detergent and the faint, spicy lingering of the cinnamon tea she drank every morning.

I stood in the doorframe of her bedroom, my arms wrapped tightly around myself, watching the movers methodically strip the room of its soul.

Each box they taped shut felt like another nail in the coffin of my childhood.

Just as they were about to seal the last box and wheel it out, I reached out and caught the arm of one of the women.

“Wait,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

She stopped, her eyes instantly softening with that look of practiced sympathy I’d come to recognize over the last week.

She didn’t say anything; she just waited.

I walked past her into the hollowed-out room.

My eyes landed on a small, dusty box of sea shells Aunt Lydia had collected over the years, before I came into the picture.

Mechanically, my fingers dipped inside and pulled out a single, sharp conch shell.

I clutched it so hard the edges bit into my palm. I needed something, just one physical piece of her world to keep me tethered to sanity.

It still felt like a film trick, a cruel plot twist in a movie that was supposed to have a happy ending.

I kept expecting her to walk around the corner and tell me I was overreacting.

Eventually, the van pulled away. It was just Adrian and me standing on the porch, watching the taillights disappear.

The house behind us felt cavernous, haunted by the echoes of a woman who was no longer there to fill it.

The silence was too much. I could feel the “ghosts” hanging in the hallway: the memory of her laughter, the way she’d scold me for over thinking things. It broke something inside me.

My knees gave out, and I sank to the porch floor, the first sob tearing out of my throat before I could stop it.

The pain was visceral, a gaping wound where my heart used to be.

Adrian was there in a second, kneeling beside me on the hard wood.

He threw his little arms around my neck, and squeezed with everything he had.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered. His voice was wobbly, but he was trying so hard to be the brave one.

His innocence only made the tears fall harder.

I realized then how much of a shadow he’d been these past four days: confused, scared, and hovering in the corners of a house that had gone cold and silent.

While I was drowning in my own head, he’d been standing on the shore, watching me struggle and just waiting for me to come back to him.

1/4

O

<

10:49 Mon, Feb 9

Chapter 132

D

61%

55 vouchers

I couldn’t let him lose me to this void, too. He’d already lost his great-aunt; he needed his mother to be more than a ghost wandering the hallways.

I realized then how many people had stepped into the gap while was drowning. Tony, Ella, David… even Fiona, surprisingly enough.

They had been a silent army, keeping him fed and distracted while I sat in the dark. But Aaron-Aaron had been my spine.

He was the one who had held me up when my bones felt like they cracking.

For these five days, he was the only reason I was even standing. He was the one who reminded me to breathe when I forgot

how.

I pulled back slightly, wiping my eyes furiously with the back of my hand and taking a shuddering breath.

I forced my features to settle, cupping his small cheeks and brushing away the tears he was trying to hide for my sake.

It broke my heart further, seeing his innocence tainted by my pain.

“I’m sorry, baby… Mommy has just been…” I trailed off, the word feeling too small for the hole Aunt Lydia had left behind.

Adrian looked at me, his eyes wide and searching.

“Is Auntie Lydia ever coming back from the sky?” he asked quietly.

I pulled him onto my lap.

How do you explain forever to a five-year-old?

The question unsettled me, but I had to explain gently, without shattering him.

“No, sweetie. Remember in that cartoon, ‘The Lion King,’ when Simba’s dad goes to the stars and watches over him? Grandma Lydia… she’s like that now. She’s not coming back, but he’s always with us, up there.”

His face fell, processing, then he nodded slowly.

“Okay, Momma. But she’ll miss us, right?”

“Yeah, she will. But she’ll be happy knowing we’re okay.”

I pointed to the sky, my voice steady despite the tears pricking again.

We held each other then, his arms tight around my neck, my chin resting on his head. In that embrace, some of the weight lifted-just a fraction, but enough to breathe.

By the afternoon, I decided I couldn’t spend another minute sulking. It was Father’s Day.

Despite my grief, I owed it to Aaron. He had been a father to Adman long before he knew the truth, and he had been a savior to me when I deserved nothing.

I had to do something to make up for my mistakes. To honor Aaon, to start bridging the chasm I’d created.

“Come on, Addie,” I said, tugging him toward the kitchen. “We have work to do.”

We spent the next few hours lost in a cloud of flour and sugar.

We baked vanilla cupcakes with blue frosting and chocolate chip cookies, the kind that make the whole house smell like a

2/4

O

r

10:49 Mon, Feb 9 DD

Chapter 132

home again.

While we cooked, my mind kept drifting to Aunt Lydia. We had planned this day weeks ago.

Every time I felt the sting of tears behind my eyes, I’d look at Adrian.

61%

55 vouchers

He was being so “overly” happy, humming to himself and covered in flour, trying his absolute best to make me smile.

I snapped out of it for him. I could sulk later, alone in my bed.

We set the plates in the backyard, the evening sun casting a long golden glow over the table.

Steven, the gardener Aaron had hired to keep the estate from falling into disrepair, was already there, helping me set up the decorations for the dinner.

He was a man in his fifties of average height, with salt-and-pepper hair that always seemed to be windswept.

You could tell he’d once been quite handsome-he had striking features-but life had clearly taken its toll.

His frame was a bit too lean, his shoulders carrying a permanent weary hunch that made him look like he’d spent years carrying a weight he couldn’t quite put down.

His skin was leathered by the sun, and his kind blue eyes were perpetually crinkled, as if he’d spent a lifetime squinting against a harsh light.

He was busy stringing up fairy lights and balloons, his thin, callused fingers carefully pinning a “Happy Father’s Day” banner across the pergola.

“Evening, Miss Jess,” he greeted, his voice low and gravelly, yet surprisingly soft. He paused his work, leaning slightly against his ladder.

“How you holding up?”

I forced a smile, my fingers fumbling with the string of a blue balloon.

“I’m trying to move on, Steven. One foot in front of the other.”

He gave a slow nod, clipping the last string of lights into place.

“Lost a friend last year-cancer. It hurts like hell, I know. But eventually, the edge wears off. It gets… softer. It never goes away, it just gets softer.”

He climbed down the ladder, looking over at Adrian before meeting my eyes again.

“You’ve got that boy there. He’ll be the one to pull you through.”

His words were stripped of any pity, just the honest perspective of someone who’d already walked the path I was on.

I nodded, a small knot of tension in my chest loosening at the simple truth of it.

I thanked him quietly, and he gave me a final, encouraging pat d the shoulder before waving goodbye and heading for his truck.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify