BURIED SECRETS

CHAPTER 9: THE VISIT.

The drive to her mother-in-law’s house was surprisingly peaceful—almost too peaceful. Chloe watched through the half-opened window as the familiar streets slowly dissolved into long stretches of quiet road. Houses blurred behind them, each one fading like a memory she wasn’t ready to release. The cold air slipped across her face, brushing against her skin as if trying to keep her awake, grounded, steady.

She wasn’t steady.

Her fingers tapped nervously on her lap as she wondered—again—whether she had made the right choice leaving the house. Leaving his house. The place that still smelled like Frank, still carried his footsteps, still had the echo of his presence in every corner.

Twice, she almost opened her mouth to ask the driver to turn around.

Twice, she stopped herself.

She needed this break, she had convinced herself. She needed space, noise, another voice besides the one in her head. Yet the driver hadn’t said a single word since the trip began. She was grateful for the silence… but silence had never been so loud.

She sighed softly and rolled the window halfway up before resting her head against the seat. Maybe a nap would help. Or at least give her a few minutes of escape. Her eyes fluttered shut, and the steady hum of the car lulled her into a light sleep.

When she woke, the world outside had changed again. The road was lined with flowers she didn’t know the names of and tall, quiet trees that looked older than the town itself. The car slowed, turning through a long driveway paved with smooth grey stones.

They had arrived.

Chloe stepped out with her luggage just as a maid appeared, bowing slightly before taking it from her hands. The butler gestured politely for her to follow him.

“This way, ma’am.”

The garden was the first thing she noticed.

It stretched out behind the house like a hidden world—quiet, still, untouched. Rows of neatly trimmed bushes curved into patterns, and pale roses climbed up wooden arches that cast soft shadows across the pathway. There was a fountain in the center, small and simple, its gentle trickling sounding like someone whispering a prayer.

And there, near one of the arches, sat her mother-in-law.

The older woman’s wheelchair was positioned to face the flowers. Her grey hair was braided loosely over her shoulder, and her hands rested calmly on her lap as if she had been waiting for Chloe for a long time.

“Good afternoon,” Chloe said softly.

The woman turned, her eyes warm but tired. “Chloe, dear… welcome.”

Chloe walked closer and bent to give a small hug. It felt stiff—awkward—but the woman’s fingers curled around her arm with surprising strength, and somehow, that small gesture softened the moment.

They sat together for a while, neither speaking. A maid brought tea, placing two delicate cups on a small round table between them. The steam rose in soft curls. Bees hummed somewhere nearby. A bird chirped once then went quiet again.

It was a peaceful silence.

Almost.

Because Chloe could feel weight in it, something unspoken pressing between them like another presence on the bench.

“You must be tired,” the older woman finally said. “Traveling can be so draining.”

“A little,” Chloe admitted. “But I’m glad I came.”

The woman nodded slowly, her gaze drifting back to the roses. “I cut my trip short when I heard the news.” Her voice trembled slightly. “I still can’t believe he’s gone.”

Chloe swallowed, feeling her chest tighten. She hadn’t planned to cry again today. She didn’t want to. She took the tea to keep her hands busy.

Another long pause.

Then, quietly, almost hesitant, her mother-in-law asked,

“Chloe… how did he die?”

That was better. Softer. More human.

Chloe took a deep breath. “It was a car accident,” she said. “A truck ran him over.”

The woman inhaled sharply, her lips trembling before she reached for a napkin and handed it to Chloe. “He was a good man,” she whispered.

Just that? Chloe wondered. Good? Only good?

Something about her tone felt… strange. Empty. As if the words were rehearsed.

Chloe’s fingers brushed the side of the bag she had brought with her—the one containing the urn. It suddenly felt too heavy to hold, too important to delay.

“I… brought him with me,” Chloe said quietly.

The woman’s eyes widened. For a moment she looked shocked—truly shocked—but she reached out her hands anyway. Chloe gently placed the urn into them.

The way the woman’s face changed—relief, fear, confusion, something else—sent a shiver through Chloe. But the old woman simply held the urn close to her chest and closed her eyes.

“That must have been difficult,” she murmured.

Chloe nodded, though her mind was spinning. Something wasn’t right. Something in the woman’s reaction. Something in her voice. But she couldn’t name it yet.

“You should rest,” her mother-in-law said suddenly, wiping her eyes. “You’ve had a long day. Butler, please show her to her room.”

Chloe stood, offering a small bow before turning away. As she followed the butler back through the quiet house, the feeling grew stronger.

Something wasn’t right.

Something at all.