Twisted Ties of Love (Izabella Salotti and Brett) novel Chapter 589

The snow in R City this year was particularly enchanting, painting the town in a pristine white that seemed to glisten under the sun's gaze. After the snowfall ceased, the sky was graced with a rainbow, a rare sight that brought whispers of wonder and smiles to the faces of all who saw it.

"I wish I could watch the snowfall with you every year, this year and the next, and the year after that," Jack mused, his eyes reflecting the wintry landscape.

"Emma, do you remember the vows you spoke on our wedding day? 'From first sight to silvered hair'—but our hair hasn't even begun to gray..."

"I'll carry you home... carry you home..." Jack repeated the words like a sacred mantra, desperately wishing that Emma was just weary, her slumber deep and peaceful, that she would awaken once they were home and playfully tug at his earlobe, calling him by his name.

As he watched Emma's hand dangle lifelessly from his arm, Jack felt a buzzing in his head, a prelude to the sharp sting of tears that soon spilled over, trailing down his reddened cheeks.

Sophie ran up to Jack, her sobs cutting through the silence as she gazed at her mother's still face. "Dad, mom... she's gone..."

Gone? Where could she have gone? Wasn't she always right behind him?

"Shh," Jack whispered, trying to keep his voice steady, "Keep it down, don't wake your mom. She's just resting on my shoulder, sleeping. I'm taking her home now..."

Sophie halted, the floodgates of grief opening as she clung to her brother, her shoulders shaking with the weight of her sorrow.

"Mom's gone... We don't have a mom anymore..."

Indeed, their mother was gone.

Tears welled up in Aaron's eyes, his throat tightening with emotion.

Jack carried Emma back to their home, each step heavy with the weight of a shared life coming to an end. Emma lay still, her pale face and cold body a stark contrast to the warm memories that filled their home. Her eyes were closed, with traces of tears that had yet to dry, and her lips curved in a serene smile. She had left quietly, without pain, completing her journey like any other, with dignity and grace.

Emma had always loved vibrant colors, especially red. The Christmas decorations they had ordered—red garlands, bright lanterns, and window decals—were now just reminders of a joy that wouldn't come this year. All the festive reds were stored away in a corner of the attic, their cheerfulness muted by the somber mood.

...

The day Emma was laid to rest, many came to say their goodbyes. Colleagues from her acting days, dear friends, business partners, relatives they had visited over the years, and those whose lives she had touched—all lined up with chrysanthemums in hand, creating a golden path to honor her memory.

Jack stood quietly, almost unnoticed, as he watched the crowd pay their respects and share their condolences. It wasn't until five in the afternoon, when the last of the mourners had left, that Jack was alone.

In the silent graveyard, only his sobs could be heard, growing louder and more desperate. He knelt, head bowed, his cries dissolving into a hoarse whisper as if a thorn was lodged in his throat, each breath a painful reminder of his loss.

The always composed man, known for his calm demeanor and steady hand, wept openly for the first time.

Reluctantly, the siblings decided to bring Jack home, where he paced restlessly, calling out for "Emma" into the silence. Eventually, his voice grew hoarse from the futile effort, and he settled on the couch, lost in his fragmented world.

In the mornings, Jack would rise before dawn to prepare breakfast, the kitchen alive with the sounds of his labor. Sophie and Aaron, awakened by the commotion, would rush downstairs to find the kitchen in disarray, the result of Jack's faltering memory.

The trash bin overflowed with failed attempts at cooking, each dish a testament to Jack's struggle to hold onto the routines that once defined their lives. As he tasted his latest creation, finding it too salty for Emma's liking, he faced the painful truth that the love of his life was no longer there to share in the simple joy of a meal together.

Casey tossed the remnants of his dinner into the trash can with a casual flick of his wrist.

"Dad." The voice came suddenly from behind him.

Startled, Casey turned around to see the sibling pair that claimed to be his children.

"Why are you still hanging around my house?" he asked with a furrowed brow.

Emily, with a soft but firm tone, replied, "This is our home, Dad. How could you forget again? I'm your daughter, Celeste, and this is my brother, your son, Boris."

Her words hung in the air, a mixture of patience and concern etched on her face as she tried to remind him of the familial bonds that he seemed to have misplaced in the clutter of his memory.