The End of a Marriage (Colette and Matheo) novel Chapter 256

asked me to wish you a happy birthday, and said he’d send some gifts

later.”

Knowing that Graham had cut the call, likely to avoid speaking with

her, struck Isla with a pain sharper than any she had ever known. She

had feared loneliness for so long–the kind of aching solitude that

comes from feeling unloved. But now, she realized, the anguish of

heartbreak was infinitely worse, an unbearable weight pressing down

on her chest.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks stretched into months. Winter

melted into spring, and before Isla knew it, May was nearing its end.

Yet each time her gaze fell on the calendar hanging in her room, a

wave of dread surged through her. The passing days felt like a

countdown to the inevitable: Graham returning to Thornfield Manor

to fulfill his promise–to prepare the estate for sale and rid himself of

the burden it represented. That burden, she feared, included her.

The thought left her swallowing back the lump in her throat,

reassuring herself that she was imagining the worst. Surely, he

wouldn’t go through with it. And yet, her actions betrayed her denial.

She hadn’t done a single thing he had asked of her. She hadn’t

scouted a cottage on the grounds for herself, as he had suggested. The

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Chapter 256

mere thought of picking a place to live apart from the manor was

unbearable—it made the prospect of his plans all too real.

Instead, Isla had clung to the hope that Graham was bluffing. She

told herself he wouldn’t follow through, that he couldn’t bring

himself to sever their ties so completely.

In the meantime, she had thrown herself into her art, refusing to let

grief consume her entirely. The scattered sketches, vibrant

watercolors, and richly textured oil paintings strewn across her floor

bore witness to her determination. She had applied to countless art

colleges across the country, pouring her heart into portfolios and

applications. If one dream–of love, marriage, and family–seemed

unattainable, she resolved to chase another with everything she had.

Her dream of pursuing art had always faced resistance, particularly

from her stepfather, Robert Lancaster. He had never seen the value in

an art degree, often dismissing it as impractical and useless for

building a career. He had pushed her instead toward more “sensible”

paths, like a business major that might secure her a lucrative job in a

metropolitan city.

And perhaps he was right, Isla thought bitterly. A business degree

might have set her on a more conventional path, just as falling for a

man other than Graham Lancaster might have spared her so much

heartache. But life didn’t work that way. You couldn’t choose who or

what you loved, and Isla had always been unwavering in her passions.

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Just as she couldn’t give up on her art, no matter how impractical it

seemed, she couldn’t give up on Graham, no matter how distant he

had become. Her love for both was stubborn and enduring, rooted so

deeply within her that it felt like an unshakable part of her soul.

The last day of April was marked by a storm unlike any Willow Creek had seen in years. The sky was a vast, oppressive expanse of black,

with clouds swirling ominously, as though they were alive, colliding

and churning together in a furious dance. The air was thick with the

scent of rain, and within moments, the heavens opened, sending

torrents of water crashing down onto the earth below. Thunder rolled

in jagged waves, echoing through the valley with such ferocity that

the windows of every house rattled. Lightning split the sky, a violent

flash followed by ear–splitting cracks, each strike seemingly closer

than the last.

The storm didn’t relent. By nightfall, the rain had intensified, coming

down in sheets that blurred the world into a hazy, dark fog. The

thunder grew louder, the kind of deafening boom that made the very

air vibrate with its power. Every crack of lightning illuminated the

sky, casting eerie shadows across the land, as if nature itself was

issuing a warning, a sign of impending doom. It felt like the world

itself was on the edge, teetering on the brink of something terrible,

Against this backdrop of fury, a car pulled up to the sprawling,

isolated Thornfield Manor. Two figures emerged, drenched by the

relentless downpour, their movements hurried but deliberate. The

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maids, who had gathered by the back kitchen door to watch the

storm, couldn’t help but notice. There was Graham Lancaster, his

once–polished coat now clinging to his form, soaked through, and

beside him, a stunning woman. Her hair, damp and heavy, clung to

her shoulders, and her elegant dress clung to her curves as they made

their way toward the house.

They knocked, the sound of their knuckles against the door barely

audible over the roar of the storm. Maggie rushed to answer, the door

swinging open to reveal them standing on the threshold. They had

clearly been caught in the worst of the storm–wet, cold, and yet still

carrying an unmistakable air of ease between them. Graham glanced

at Maggie with a flicker of annoyance, then gently took the woman’s

hand, guiding her inside.

“It’s fine, Maggie, it’s alright,” Graham said, his voice sounding a

little strained, but carrying an undeniable calm. He shrugged off his

soaked coat and handed it over to the fussing maid, who was trying to

tend to them in the chaos of the storm. He seemed unconcerned by

the state of his appearance, his focus entirely on the woman beside

him. “We got drenched getting from the helipad to here. Surprisingly,

the umbrella didn’t stand a chance,” he added with a half–hearted

chuckle, tossing the broken black umbrella to the side.

The woman beside him giggled softly, her voice light and melodic

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