Chapter 9 - The Funeral of What Was
Claire pulled him inside the warm cottage, slamming the heavy wooden door against the storm.
Grant collapsed onto the floor entry, his clothes heavy and ice-cold, his teeth chattering so violently he couldn't speak.
“You idiot,” Claire wept, her composure finally breaking as she rushed to pull his soaked coat and sweater off. “You complete idiot! You could have frozen to death!”
She wrapped him in three dry wool blankets, dragged him near the woodstove, and fed him hot soup from a pot sitting on the iron stove.
As warmth slowly returned to his shivering body, Grant looked up at her through red, swollen eyes. He reached out a trembling hand and gently touched the hem of her sweater.
“I just... I didn't want your paintings to get wet,” Grant whispered, his voice weak and raspy. “The shed... you stored your extra canvases in there.”
Claire froze. She looked at the man lying shivering on her floor—the billionaire developer who had spent three hours in the freezing rain to save six scraps of painted canvas because he knew they belonged to her.
She sat down on the floor beside him, her knees pulling up to her chest, and for the first time in nine months, Claire began to cry—not with quiet, suppressed sorrow, but with deep, cleansing, heartbreaking sobs that echoed through the small cottage.
Grant reached out and pulled her gently into his arms. He didn't try to kiss her. He didn't ask her to come back to New York. He simply held her close against his chest, wrapping his blankets around her, letting her weep for the baby they had lost, for the years they had wasted, and for the marriage that had died in the silence of a Manhattan penthouse.
They sat together on the floor for hours while the storm raged outside.
“I named him,” Claire whispered into his neck near midnight, her voice tiny against the wind.
Grant held his breath, his eyes filling with fresh tears. “What?”
“The baby,” Claire sobbed softly. “It was a boy. I... I named him Leo. After your grandfather.”
Grant buried his face in her hair, his tears soaking into her shoulder. “Leo,” he whispered, saying his son's name for the first time in his life. “Leo Mercer.”
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“I missed him so much, Grant,” she wept. “I missed him every single second, and I was so lonely.”
“I know, my love,” Grant wept with her, holding her tighter than he had ever held anything in his life. “I know. I'm here now. I'm so sorry I wasn't there for Leo. I'm so sorry I left you in the dark.”
