The End of a Marriage (Colette and Matheo) novel Chapter 196

Chapter 196

CHAPTER 7

Graham Lancaster sat in the leather chair of his father’s study, the

weight of the moment pressing heavily on his chest. The room,

steeped in the scent of old books and faint traces of his father s

cologne, felt eerily quiet. Papers and receipts related to the estate lay

scattered on the polished oak desk in front of him, demanding his

attention. Yet his focus drifted, his gaze fixed on the sprawling

gardens outside the window. Beyond the manicured hedges lay the

rolling fields and endless horizon of Thornfield Manor–the place he

had always considered his sanctuary.

To Graham, Thornfield Manor was synonymous with his father. It

wasn’t just a house; it was the embodiment of home, a comforting

retreat he could conjure in his mind during the most stressful days.

When the pressures of running his multi–billion–dollar company in

New York became too overwhelming, he would close his eyes and

picture this place: the sweet, fresh air of Willow Creek, the rhythmic

gallop of horses in the distance, the quiet expanse of fields that

seemed to stretch forever. And always, at the heart of it, his father-

sitting in this very chair, his face lit with a contented smile.

The memories stirred an ache in his chest. He could see his father’s

steady presence, hear the warm cadence of his voice offering advice,

Chapter 196

or simply sharing an anecdote from years past. And then there was

another image: a little girl with ponytails, wearing a bright pink

dress, trailing behind him as he went about his day. Isla. She had been

a constant presence during his childhood visits, shadowing him with

the quiet adoration of a younger sibling. The thought of her, happy

and innocent, always managed to bring a smile to his face–even

when he was miles away, ensconced in the steel and glass of his high-

rise office.

But now, everything felt different. The manor was still here,

unchanged in its outward appearance. The horses still grazed in the

paddock, the gardens still bloomed, and Isla was still a part of this

place. Yet the soul of Thornfield Manor–his father–was gone. No

matter how much Graham wished it otherwise, this wasn’t a

nightmare he could wake up from. His father wasn’t going to call out

from another room or walk through the door with his familiar,

reassuring presence.

This was reality, and it was one Graham was struggling to accept. The

void left behind by his father’s death was immense, and it wasn’t just

emotional. There were responsibilities now–tasks that had been his

father’s domain, and they had fallen squarely on Graham’s shoulders.

His father’s illness in the last month had left many things

unattended. The stables required their yearly repairs, the south wing

of the manor needed fixing, and the rents from the tenant farmers hadn’t been collected. The weight of these obligations pressed down on him, reminding him that the role of caretaker now belonged to

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him.

And then there was Isla.

Graham leaned back in the chair, his eyes narrowing slightly as he

thought of her. She had been uncharacteristically quiet since the

funeral, retreating into a shell he hadn’t seen since she was a child.

She hadn’t spoken a word that day, not during the service, not at the

burial. She had slipped away from the church unnoticed, walking

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