Good News, Bad News.

I ran.

Before the guard could explain, before my grandfather could stop me or ask any questions, I was already sprinting out of the sitting room, my bare feet slapping against the cold marble as I flew down the hall. My heart pounded in my chest, wild and frantic, each beat whispering her name—Mom. Mom. Mom.

They found her.

The other wing.

The far wing of the mansion—the one we never used. The one that held memories buried so deep, none of us dared unearth them. Except her, apparently. Except my mother, who had been missing for almost Thirty-six hours and had been here the whole time.

I pushed past startled maids, nearly knocking over a vase in my haste. I didn’t care. Let it break. Let the entire damn house crumble as long as I got to her in time.

She was alive. She was fine.

The old wing was colder, quieter. The moment I crossed into it, it was like stepping into another world. A forgotten part of the house, frozen in time. My lungs burned, but I didn’t slow down. I couldn’t. The guard’s words kept echoing in my head.

"She’s sitting beside your father’s grave."

Why? Why would she go there? Why didn’t anyone see her? Why had no one thought to look?

And then I saw her.

Through the tall windows of the corridor, just beyond the double glass doors leading into the garden. She sat on the marble bench beside my father’s grave, her back hunched, her hands folded in her lap. She looked so small, so fragile against the vast stretch of morning light.

I slowed, breath catching painfully in my throat. My feet moved of their own accord, carrying me toward her, but I no longer felt the urgency. Only sorrow.

She was speaking.

I stopped a few feet away, hidden behind the ivy-covered column. Her voice drifted toward me, soft and broken, like a lullaby sung in mourning.

“They think I’m losing it, James. But I swear I hear you. I feel you. Right here.” She touched her chest. “You used to sit there and tell me everything would be okay. I’m trying to believe it now. I really am.”

My throat closed. She wasn’t talking to me.

She was talking to him.

To my father.

I saw Grandpa step up beside me, his eyes glistening with tears. We didn’t say a word. We just stood there and watched her pour her heart out to a man buried beneath stone and earth.

“I miss you so much,” she whispered. “They say time heals, but they don’t know what it means to lose someone like you. You were my anchor. My light. And now… now I’m drifting.”

She paused, looking at the gravestone as though expecting it to speak back. Then she laughed, a soft, broken sound that tore me apart.

“Ariana’s so strong. You should see her. I wish you could. She looks more like you every day. She tries to act tough, but she still clings to your old sweater sometimes when she thinks no one’s looking. She misses you. We both do.”

That broke me.

I stepped forward, feet crunching the gravel path. She didn’t turn, not at first. Maybe she thought I was just another ghost.

“Mom,” I whispered.

She froze.

And then slowly, as though waking from a dream, she turned to face me. Her eyes were hollow. Red. Swollen. Her lips parted, but no words came.

I didn’t wait.

I dropped to my knees beside her and threw my arms around her.

She stiffened for a second. Then, like a dam breaking, she collapsed into me, her body shaking with silent sobs. I held her tightly, burying my face in her shoulder, inhaling what was left of her scent—rosewater and grief.

“Mom,” I cried. “You can’t do that. You can’t just disappear like that. I thought I lost you. I thought… I thought you were gone.”

She clung to me. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just… I needed to be with him. Just for a little while.”

“Promise me,” I said, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes. “Promise me you won’t ever do that again. No matter how much it hurts. Don’t shut me out. Please. You’re all I have.”

Her face crumbled. “I promise.”

I sat with her in silence, our hands joined as we stared at the name etched into the stone: James Miller.

My father.

Such a strong man.

Taken too soon.

And not by accident.

Deep in my gut, I knew it. My bones knew it. My blood boiled with it. Garry Miller may have been arrested, but we still didn’t have the proof. The evidence that would ensure he stayed locked up forever.

But I’d find it.

I had to.

For him.

For her.

For me.

Eventually, I helped Mom to her feet, her legs trembling beneath her. I wrapped her in her shawl and walked her slowly back to her room, every step measured, every breath a silent prayer. Grandpa trailed behind us, his eyes never leaving her.

When we reached her room, I guided her to the bed and helped her under the covers. She didn’t protest. She was exhausted, her body and spirit drained. I brushed her hair gently off her forehead and kissed her cheek.

“I’ll be right outside,” I said softly. “Rest. Please.”

She nodded, her lips barely moving. “I love you, Ariana.”

“I love you too.”

I stepped outside and immediately turned to the guard stationed at her door.

“Don’t leave,” I instructed. “Not even for a second. If she asks for anything, call me. If she moves, call me. I don’t care what it is. Just don’t let her out of your sight.”

He nodded solemnly. “Yes, ma’am.”

Only then did I let myself exhale.

My legs finally gave in, and I sank to the floor just outside her door, pressing my forehead to my knees.

She was safe.

For now.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. My fingers hovered over Hardin’s name for a second before I hit call.

He picked up on the first ring.

“Ariana?”

My throat tightened. “We found her,” I said, voice barely above a whisper. “She’s okay. She’s… she’s resting now.”

A beat of silence. Then a breath. “Thank God.”

“She was in the old wing,” I said. “By Dad’s grave. Talking to him like he was still there.”

Hardin didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then, softly, “I’m glad she’s okay. Do you need anything? Do you want me to come over?”

“No,” I said gently. “Just hearing your voice helps.”

We talked for another minute before I hung up, promising to call him later.

And then, just as I was about to slip my phone back into my pocket, it rang.

A number from the police station.

My stomach dropped.

I stared at the screen, a cold dread creeping into my bones. Something about it felt wrong. Off.

I answered slowly. “Hello?”

The voice on the other end spoke fast, urgent.

And then the words hit me like a freight train.

I froze.

The phone slipped from my fingers.

And the world went silent all over again.
She's The Boss
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