Chapter 7 - Margaret’s Bedroom
The interior of the farmhouse smelled of old wood, lemon Pledge, and simmering chicken broth.
It was a comforting smell, steeped in decades of family history, but as Sophia walked down the narrow hallway toward her mother’s bedroom, her chest felt impossibly tight.
Emma pushed open the door to the master bedroom.
The room was bathed in soft, amber light filtering through lace curtains. In the center of the room sat a massive wooden bed piled high with quilts. Propped up against a stack of pillows was Margaret Carter.
At eighty-six pounds, Margaret was a shadow of the vibrant, formidable woman who had raised three children on the harsh Pennsylvania soil. Her cheeks were hollow, her breathing shallow and raspy, and a colorful silk scarf was tied neatly around her head.
Yet, when she heard the footsteps, her dull eyes flickered open.
"Sophie?" Margaret whispered, her voice like dry leaves scraping across concrete.
Sophia rushed to the bedside, dropping to her knees and burying her face against her mother’s frail, paper-thin hand. "I'm here, Mama. I'm right here."
Margaret stroked Sophia’s hair with trembling fingers, a weak, beautiful smile touching her lips. "I knew you’d come. And... and you brought company?"
Sophia swallowed hard, looking back toward the doorway.
Dominic stood quietly in the shadows of the bedroom entrance. He had left his coat in the hallway, standing tall in his charcoal turtleneck, looking completely out of place amid the flowered wallpaper and antique dressers, yet anchoring the room with an inexplicable gravity.
Emma gently nudged Dominic forward. "Go on," she whispered.
Dominic stepped up to the edge of the bed. He didn't look like a mob boss, nor like a ruthless corporate raider. For the first time since Sophia had known him, he looked entirely human.
Margaret turned her head slowly, her faded blue eyes studying Dominic from head to toe.
"So," Margaret breathed, a faint wheeze of a chuckle escaping her lips. "You’re the man who finally dragged my stubborn girl out of her New York cave."
Dominic stepped closer, his face softening in a way Sophia had never witnessed. He reached out, taking Margaret’s frail hand in his own large, warm palm with absolute gentleness.
"I’m Dominic, Mrs. Carter," he said, his voice dropping into a rich, respectful cadence. "And I apologize for not coming sooner. Sophia talks about your cooking constantly."
Margaret’s eyes sparkled with a sudden, fierce flash of life. She squeezed his hand with surprising strength.
"Good," Margaret whispered. "Because she can't boil water to save her life. You keep an eye on her, Dominic Moretti."
May you like
Dominic held her gaze, his expression solemn, unwavering, and entirely sincere.
"I will, Margaret," Dominic said, and the promise hung in the quiet bedroom like an oath carved in stone. "You have my word."
