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Chapter_80
Quinn stared at the message from Freya, her finger hovering over the screen as she processed the words. The weight of her unspoken thoughts lingered—Wayne Kennedy, always so insistent, always so commanding. His authority ran deep within the family, a power that Quinn had never quite learned how to navigate without feeling small in comparison. She hadn’t been to one of their gatherings in a while, and the thought of facing them—of sitting across from Freya and Wayne, both so effortlessly powerful in their own way—made Quinn’s stomach twist uneasily.
Her hand hovered over her belly again, the ache a reminder of the tension coiling within her. Everything felt like it was spiraling, out of her control. She had stayed quiet for the past two days, trying to ignore the gnawing sense of distance between her and Alexander, trying to avoid the chaos that seemed to follow them wherever they went. But now, with Freya’s message hanging in the air, she was forced to confront the reality of her fractured life.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” Quinn muttered under her breath, the words slipping out before she could stop them. Juliet, who had been quietly folding some laundry near the bed, looked up at her with a concerned frown.
“What’s going on?” Juliet asked softly, her tone full of the kind of concern that only someone who had been quietly observing for days could muster.
Quinn hesitated, not wanting to voice the tangled mess in her mind. But Juliet’s warm, patient gaze softened the tightness in her chest. She sighed deeply, letting her phone drop onto the blanket beside her.
“It’s just… everything,” Quinn admitted, her voice quieter than she intended. “I don’t know what’s going on with Alexander anymore. And Freya—Wayne—they expect me to be… I don’t know, perfect? And I can’t be that. I’m falling apart.”
Juliet slowly walked over, sitting down on the edge of the bed. She reached out, placing a gentle hand on Quinn’s arm. Her touch was like an anchor, steadying Quinn in a sea of swirling doubts and insecurities.
“You don’t have to be perfect,” Juliet said, her voice firm but kind. “And you don’t have to face this alone, Quinn. I’m here. You’re not falling apart, even if it feels like you are.”
The older woman’s words sank into Quinn like a balm, easing some of the jagged edges of her emotional storm. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the quiet comfort of Juliet’s presence seep into her bones. She needed this—a moment of peace, a reminder that she wasn’t entirely alone in the chaos.
But even as the warmth spread through her, the nagging thought of Alexander and his silent distance kept creeping back into her mind. She couldn’t stop wondering if he was still out there somewhere, still distant, still preoccupied with his own world and his own secrets. She had felt it too many times—the coldness between them, the absence where love used to be.
“He doesn’t even take pictures with me anymore,” Quinn murmured, half to herself, as she picked up her phone and swiped through Getty’s posts. “But with Getty? She has endless photos with him. She’s out there, living her life, while I’m just… stuck.”
Juliet furrowed her brow, leaning over to take a glance at Quinn’s phone. The images of Getty’s glamorous life, her radiant smile, and her effortless allure sent a pang of something sharp and bitter through Quinn’s chest.
“People on the outside don’t see everything,” Juliet said softly, her tone gentle but filled with an underlying wisdom. “What matters is what’s real between you and him. Not the pictures, not the facade everyone else sees.”
Quinn bit her lip, uncertainty still gnawing at her. But Juliet’s words were a small comfort, a reminder that what she was feeling, though messy and painful, was still valid. She didn’t have to measure her worth by the images others posted online or the expectations of her family.
She put her phone down, the screen darkening as she leaned back against the headboard. The thought of New Year’s dinner still lingered in her mind, pulling at her with its sense of obligation. It was the perfect opportunity to confront everything, to try and navigate the impossible balance between family expectations and her own fractured emotions. But the idea of facing Wayne and Freya, with all their demands and silent judgments, felt like too much to bear.
“I don’t even know if I want to go,” Quinn admitted quietly, her voice heavy with the weight of indecision. “It feels like a performance. Like I’m supposed to show up and be… the perfect daughter-in-law. But it’s all just… a show. I don’t know how to be part of it anymore.”
Juliet’s gaze softened, her understanding evident. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to, Quinn. It’s not worth breaking your heart over. Whatever you decide, it has to be for you.”
Quinn looked at the older woman, her heart swelling with a mix of gratitude and sadness. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had given her the space to just be—without judgment, without expectation. Juliet’s steady presence felt like a lifeline in a sea of uncertainty.
“I’ll think about it,” Quinn said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But right now… I think I need a moment to just breathe.”
Juliet nodded, standing up to give Quinn space. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.”
Quinn watched as Juliet left the room, the door closing softly behind her. She stared out the window, her thoughts drifting to Alexander, to Getty, to the looming presence of Wayne and Freya. A part of her wanted to run away from it all, to escape the suffocating weight of expectations. But another part of her—perhaps the smallest part—wanted to face it, to find some way to make sense of the tangled mess that had become her life.
For now, though, all she could do was breathe. Just breathe, and take things one moment at a time.
