Word Of Advice
She exhaled shakily.
“Why do you think I left?” she said. “They didn’t kick me out. I walked away. I packed what little dignity I had left and disappeared but came back after I found out I had a grandchild.”
I stared at her, quiet.
She turned to me. “I see pieces of myself in you, Remi.”
I smiled faintly. “You’re much stronger.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I had wealth to fall back on. I had connections. You had nothing. And still you stood up, raised two children, built a career, and survived.”
The silence stretched again, warm this time.
“Do you think Rowan knows?” I asked gently.
“About his grandfather being a monster? Maybe. But knowing and understanding are two different things.”
I nodded slowly.
“He’s better than him,” she added. “He’s learning. But the Vaughn men… they carry arrogance in their bones.”
“You ever think he’ll… change?”
She looked at me, eyes sharp. “Has he made you feel safe?”
My heart skipped.
“Safe isn’t the word,” I said finally. “But… seen. He’s trying.”
“That’s more than I ever got,” she muttered. “Don’t waste that.”
I helped her with her blanket, tucking it under her arms.
“I loved him once,” she said suddenly. “Despite everything. It was love that blinded me. And it was that same love that woke me up. Love isn’t meant to bruise you, Remi. Not day after day.”
I blinked, caught off guard. “Mrs. Isolde, I—”
She waved a frail hand, cutting me off. “Don’t do that thing where you pretend you don’t understand. You do. You understand too well, and that’s your problem.”
I sat back in the chair beside her bed, folding my arms. “You’re being dramatic.”
“No, darling. I’m being old. And when you get to this age, you’ve earned the right to stop pretending.”
I gave a small laugh despite myself. “You’re something else.”
She smiled slyly. “He was trash, you know.”
I blinked. “Who?”
“My husband. That crack of a man. After I came back, he was gloating. My family now have wealth and decided to Arrange the marriage. We already had kids anyways. Grandchildren too. Old fuckers like us. But it was expected of us. High society expectations. Vaughn legacy. Same as the one Rowan got thrown into. It was all planned, polished, poisoned. Your husband wasn’t the first Vaughn to break hearts. Mine broke mine long before yours had the chance.”
I exhaled slowly, unsure what to say. “I didn’t know.”
“Because I made sure no one did.” Her voice dropped a little. “There’s shame in marrying someone who loves power more than people. I thought I could change him. That if I was good enough, quiet enough, beautiful enough... he’d choose me back.”
I looked down at my hands. “I’ve thought the same.”
“Of course you have,” she said, a touch of bitterness in her voice. “We all have. And that’s the curse, Remi. Good women thinking love means losing yourself for someone else.”
Silence stretched between us.
She tilted her head toward me. “What’s your excuse?”
I swallowed. “I don’t know.”
“Liar.”
That made me smile again. “You really don’t hold back.”
“I don’t have the time,” she shot back. “So I’ll say this, and then I’ll shut up—maybe. Some things are meant to stay in the past. Some people too. But not all.”
I raised my eyes to meet hers.
She softened, her voice quiet. “Maybe it’s time you let go of the pain. Not for him—for you. Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting. It just means it doesn’t hurt every time you breathe.”
I looked away. “It’s not that easy.”
“I didn’t say it was.” Her fingers reached out, curled around mine. “But you don’t have to carry the whole damn world on your back just to prove you survived it.”
A lump formed in my throat. “I don’t know how to let go.”
Mrs. Isolde smiled, squeezing my hand. “Start by forgiving yourself.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to stay composed.
“And if the past comes knocking again?” I asked.
“Ask yourself one question.” She leaned forward, her voice dropping into a whisper. “Does he still make you feel like you’re not enough—or like you’ve always been too much for him to deserve?”
My eyes burned.
Because I didn’t know.
Because sometimes... it felt like both.
She patted my hand once and leaned back. “Now go. I’m tired of looking at your mopey face.”
That made me laugh, even through the tears.
“Fine,” I said, standing. “But if you start talking about the golden days of the Vaughns again, I’m walking out.”
“Oh please,” she muttered. “That name’s been rotten longer than it’s been rich.”
As I walked to the door, her voice followed me softly. “Don’t let pain be your compass forever, Remi.”
I paused, hand on the doorframe, before finally walking out.
****
I sat in the back garden of the facility, hands wrapped around a half-drunk cup of coffee. The wind was soft today. Not too cold, not too warm—just still. And for once, I didn’t feel like running.
Maybe she was right.
Mrs. Isolde, with her dry wit and unfiltered wisdom. Maybe it really was time to let go of the pain I wore like armor. Maybe I’d worn it too long, let it weigh down everything else.
Let it eat away at every chance of peace.
I stared into my mug. There was no steam anymore, just silence and the uncomfortable reflection of my own face.
What if… what if this wasn’t about Rowan?
What if it was about me?
And then my phone buzzed.
I glanced down absently, expecting a message from Jo. Maybe even
the twins’ school group chat.
Instead—
Claire’s funeral: Sunday at 10am. Location: St. Haven’s Chapel. Dress code: white.
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