CHAPTER 7: STRAWBERRIES AND SECRETS
770 Words
90 days left.
Today we’re going to Lily’s favorite place.
And I have no idea if I’m ready for that.
---
It started with strawberries.
Damian came home with a box. Not the expensive imported kind. The small, sweet ones from the market.
"These were her favorite," he said, setting them on the counter. "Lily."
I stared at the box. "Why did you buy them?"
"Because it’s April." He shrugged. "She always asked for them in April."
He didn’t look at me. Just washed his hands and walked away.
That night, he knocked on my side of the bed. "Pack a bag. We’re leaving at 6 AM."
"Where to?"
"Her place." A pause. "Lily’s place."
---
We drove 2 hours out of KL. To a small house by the lake.
White walls. Blue door. A garden full of flowers.
It was nothing like the penthouse.
"This is where she lived," Damian said, unlocking the door. "Before..."
Before she died.
The house smelled like vanilla and old books.
Photos everywhere. Lily at 5, missing teeth. Lily at 10, with Damian carrying her on his back. Lily at 15, laughing.
Damian stood in the doorway like he couldn’t go in.
"Do you want me to come with you?" I asked quietly.
He nodded once.
We walked through together.
Kitchen. Living room. A small office with drawings pinned to the wall.
In the backyard was a strawberry patch. Overgrown, but still alive.
"She planted these," Damian said. He knelt down and pulled a weed. "Every year. Said they tasted better when you grew them yourself."
I sat beside him. "She sounds amazing."
"She was." He picked a strawberry. Red. Perfect. "She was better than me."
He ate it. Then handed me one.
It was sweet.
We stayed silent for a long time.
---
Inside, Damian showed me her room.
Purple walls. Fairy lights. A desk full of sketchbooks.
"She wanted to be an artist," he said, flipping one open. "Drawings of me. Of Mom. Of this house."
The last page made me stop.
It was me.
Not me-me. But a girl with long hair, sitting by a hospital bed. Holding someone’s hand.
"She drew this a week before..." Damian trailed off. "She said she had a dream. About her big brother finding someone who would take care of him."
My throat hurt. "Damian..."
"Don't." He closed the book. "She was just a kid."
But his hands were shaking.
That night, we slept in Lily’s guest room. Two single beds.
For the first time in weeks, we weren’t pretending.
At 2 AM, I heard him.
"Damian?" I whispered.
"Can't sleep," he answered from the other bed.
"Me neither."
Silence. Then: "Tell me about Aira."
I froze. "What?"
"You said hospital. What happened?"
So I told him.
About Aira’s accident. About the bills. About working 3 jobs. About signing the contract because I was desperate.
When I finished, he was quiet.
"Thank you," he said finally. "For telling me."
"Thank you. For bringing me here."
---
The next morning, Victoria called.
"Where are you?" Her voice was sharp. "The board wants an update."
"We’re at Lily’s house," Damian said. No hiding.
A long pause. "You took her there?"
"Yes."
"Damian, you promised--"
"I promised I’d protect the company. This is part of it." He hung up.
He looked at me. "She hates that I brought you here."
"Why?"
"Because Lily liked you." He said it so simply. "In her drawing. She liked you."
I didn’t know what to say.
Before we left, Damian took me to the strawberry patch again.
He picked a small basket and handed it to me.
"For you," he said. "So you remember."
Remember what? That this wasn’t real?
I took it anyway.
---
Back at the penthouse, things were different.
He didn’t go to his study. He stayed in the living room.
Reading. One of the books I bought.
I sat on the other end of the sofa.
"Can I ask you something?" I said.
"Yes."
"Why did you really pick me? Out of everyone."
He didn’t answer for a long time.
"Because you looked at me like I was a person," he said finally. "Not a CEO. Not money. Just... Damian."
My chest tightened. "Oh."
"And because Lily would have liked you."
There it was again. Lily.
That night, we went back to the master bedroom. Same bed.
But this time, when I rolled over, I didn’t pull away.
Neither did he.
We slept 6 inches apart.
90 days left.
But the secrets between us were starting to crack open.
And I was scared of what we’d find underneath.
- Writer
