Page 4 of Bound By Crimson
One Year Ago.
Her mother had twirled barefoot across the kitchen floor—the envelope clutched above her head like a prize.
The kitchen smelled like bacon, eggs, and sunshine—loud with the kind of happiness that made you forget to worry.
“Lyric, can you believe this? A trip! I didn’t even know I had a great uncle!”
Marianne spun in wide, giddy circles, her laugh filling every inch of the little house.
Her hair fell in loose curls, her skirt flowing, her joy so infectious that even Lyric had laughed along, spinning clumsily beside her.
At the kitchen table, Raymond leaned back in his creaky chair, arms crossed over his broad chest. A trace of beard stubble shadowed his jaw, and his kind, handsome eyes crinkled with a skeptical half-smile.
“Hon, we don’t even know what you inherited yet. Could be something small. We might be wasting our time going all the way to Europe.”
“Or it might be something really big,” Marianne said, her eyes sparkling. “We’ll never know what he left us if we don’t go.”
Lyric raised an eyebrow. “You mean... an actual inheritance?”
“That’s what the lawyer said. There’s a will. We have to be there in person to hear it.”
He exhaled, shaking his head. “It’s going to be hard for me to get time off work.”
Lyric grabbed the envelope from her mother’s hands and read the name at the top.
“Edison Ashford,” she said. “I heard you’re not supposed to trust a man with two last names.”
Marianne swatted playfully at her hand. “Oh, stop it. I called. I spoke to the lawyer—they’re covering our travel expenses. There’s not much risk at all.”
Raymond still frowned. “I don’t know, Mare.”
“Please,” Marianne pleaded. “We never get a break like this. Never. Let’s just do it.”
He sighed, long and theatrical—but he wrapped his arms around her anyway.
“Okay, Mare,” he said, kissing her temple. “If it makes you happy, we’ll go.”
Lyric had rolled her eyes at their shamelessness, but her heart had felt full.
They were unstoppable, the two of them—bright and steady all at once.
Nothing could touch them.
Nothing could take them away.
---
Now.
Lyric opened her eyes, blinking against the sudden burn behind them.
The house was silent now.
No laughter.
No dancing.
Just the low, broken hum of the refrigerator echoing from down the hall—like the house was grieving, too.
