Sign the Papers Mr. Langford novel Chapter 109

Willow waited until ten o'clock at night, but Lawrence never showed up.

The lights in Riverview Heights were glaringly bright.

She hated dark rooms. If it was too dark, the windows would reflect her silhouette. If the shadow stretched too long, it felt just like when she was a teenager, following Lydia into the Whitaker house for the first time. Everyone in that villa had been wearing black, and Wren had been standing at the top of the stairs, her face as white as a sheet of paper.

That day, Quentin held her hand and said, "Willow, this is your sister."

Wren had just looked at her.

No screaming, no crying.

Just one look.

But Willow still remembered it perfectly to this day.

That gaze seemed to say: You finally waited until my mother died.

The hot broth on the table had gone completely cold.

Willow gently stirred it with a spoon, watching the red dates float to the surface and sink again. She had specifically asked the housekeeper to brew it today. Lawrence had a bad stomach, and whenever he came here after drinking at night, he would always take off his jacket with a furrowed brow.

She would take his coat and whisper, "Why don't you take better care of yourself?"

You couldn't say something like that like a nagging wife.

You had to say it like your heart was breaking for him.

Men ate that right up.

Especially a man like Lawrence.

He had no shortage of women trying to please him, or people bowing and scraping for his favor. But he loved it when someone looked up at him with just the right amount of restraint. He loved it when someone handed him a warm glass of water when he was exhausted, making him feel like the whole world was noisy, but only his Willow was soft, quiet, and understanding.

But tonight, he didn't come.

The three messages she had sent were all left on read.

The first: Lawrence, how are things with Margaret?

The second: I heard Wren went to Southpoint. I'm a little worried she might be misunderstanding us again.

The third: Don't work too hard. I saved some hot broth for you.

She had obsessed over every single word.

But inside that house, there was simply too much of Wren left behind.

The placement of the tableware, the labels in the kid's room, Eleanor's medication reminders, the contact cards for Margaret's manor.

Wren might not physically be there, but she was like a base coat of paint that couldn't be washed away.

Willow had worked so hard to paint herself over it inch by inch. Yet now that Wren had only stepped back for a few days, everyone was suddenly noticing her instead.

Noticing everything Wren used to do.

Noticing that Wren wasn't useless after all.

Willow closed her eyes. When she opened them again, the sliver of panic in her gaze was buried deep.

She couldn't panic.

Lydia had always told her: panic is the most useless thing in the world.

When the doorbell rang, Willow practically bolted out of her chair.

But when she reached the foyer, the face on the security screen wasn't Lawrence's.