Becoming Mrs.Terry

Chapter Nine: Echoes and Doubts

The next morning, the mansion felt colder—even with the sun slipping through the curtains.

Tinah stirred her tea absently at the breakfast table, but she didn’t take a sip. Her thoughts kept drifting back to Emily Linda. The way she walked in like she still knew Rowland’s heart. Like there was a part of him Tinah hadn’t even begun to reach.

“Are you always this quiet in the morning?” Rowland asked from across the table.

She blinked. “Just thinking.”

“About yesterday.”

“Yes,” she admitted.

He folded the newspaper in his hands and leaned back. “You want to ask.”

“I don’t want to need to,” she said. “But I do.”

Rowland nodded slowly. “Emily was part of my life when everything else was falling apart. She was there when my mother died, when the press wouldn’t leave us alone, when I inherited a company I wasn’t ready to run.”

“Did you love her?”

He was quiet for a long moment. Then: “I tried to.”

Tinah’s throat tightened. “But?”

“But I wasn’t whole enough to give her anything real. And she couldn’t wait around for someone who barely existed anymore.”

Tinah nodded, biting the inside of her cheek.

“She’s not a threat to you, Tinah.”

“I’m not threatened,” she said quickly, too quickly. “Just… reminded.”

“Of what?”

“That I’m new here. That I barely know you. That I was chosen for this marriage, not wanted.” She stood, frustrated with herself. “And she walked in like she still had the key to everything you’ve locked away.”

Rowland rose too, voice calmer. “I didn’t want a wife when this arrangement began. You know that.”

“I know,” she said, eyes shining. “But it doesn’t stop me from wishing you did.”

He reached for her hand, and she let him take it.

“I’m not good with emotions, Tinah. I built walls to survive, and now I don’t always know how to live without them.”

“I don’t need all of you right away,” she whispered. “Just… honesty. And space to feel like I belong here.”

“You do,” he said, gently pulling her closer. “More than anyone else ever has.”

She looked up at him, searching his face. “Then let me in, Rowland. Let me stand beside you—not behind.”

He nodded, voice quiet. “I’ll try. No more hiding.”

For a while, they just stood there—hands entwined, silence thick with understanding.

But neither of them noticed the envelope that had arrived by courier that morning—lying unopened in Rowland’s study.

It bore no return address.

Only one word scrawled in heavy ink across the front:

“Forgive?”