Page 100 of Burdens
“Yeah,” Gabriel replied, nodding. “Finding her was the only thing I would have asked your help for, but I guess this saves you the work.”
Nassim shook his head, huffing a laugh. “I’m glad it worked out,” he said, with a nod of his head. “All right,” he began, addressing everyone. “Not that it wasn’t a pleasure, but unfortunately, I have some work to do. I also need to call my wife to give her an update before she shows up here, guns blazing, thinking I’m injured.”
He quickly said goodbye to each of us, promising me that he’d call in a few days after things settled before he walked toward the front of the house where his men were.
After the rest also said their goodbyes, only Noah and I were left behind, both of us standing in the middle of the courtyard.
Noah draped his arm again over my shoulders, tugging me closer to his side and pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “Let’s go home, pretty girl,” he mumbled against my hair.
I wrapped my arms around him as he led us to the car we’d parked at the back.
I’d never really had a place to call home, but I knew as we walked to the car that home wasn’t a place. It was the person you were building it with.
No matter what happened, I knew Noah would always be that for me.
Home.
1 Gabi, is that you?
2 Word used as a form of respect to describe to an older female relative or respected friend (especially one's own sister), and means "Sister”.
3 Okay, enough already.
CHAPTER 28
NOAH (PRESENT)
THREE WEEKS LATER
This house would always remaina paradox to me. I loved that my mother found her happiness here, that she’d been able to make this place her own and live her life the way she’d always wanted and deserved to.
While we lived in Colombia, I’d known she had always been looking over her shoulder and making sure I was protected. She’d selflessly prioritized my well-being and happiness over her own.
But here, she’d blossomed back into Camila Montero, the free-spirited artist who loved life and laughed so freely, you couldn’t help but join her.
She’d been able to become who she’d always been inside before my father’s claws dug so deep, it dimmed her light.
Despite all the love and happiness I’d experienced within these walls whenever I visited her, it would also always be intertwined with the memory of losing one of my favorite people.
It had been the only place I had left that reminded me of her, but one I’d avoided like the plague ever since her funeral.
When I’d been told about her passing, I’d taken the first available flight and had come straight here. For some stupid reason, I’d still held the hope that they’d called the wrong person.
That it hadn’t been my mother who had died, that it had been someone else’s.
But the moment the door opened and a hospice nurse greeted me with a somber expression, the death of my mother had sunk in.
The townhouse still looked exactly the same as I’d left it, everything that represented my mother encapsulated into a frozen moment in time.
Various of her paintings were hanging over the walls, her last work in progress still mounted on the easel, the last brushes she’d used scattered on the wooden table standing next to her workstation.
Trinkets she’d picked up fromEl Rastrowere placed everywhere around the living area and you could see a piece of her everywhere you looked.
As I stood in the front doorway, memories of her flooded back, painting vivid images of her laughing and dancing as she cooked while I sat on the large couch in the living room attached to the kitchen, just watching her and basking in her energy.
After her funeral that had taken place the next day of her passing, I had come back here to gather her things and put the house up for sale, but I hadn’t been able to bring myself to do it.
Everywhere I’d looked was just a painful reminder of who I’d just lost. I could barely bring myself to walk inside the house every time I had to, let alone stay over for days to pack up her things, only to uncover more frozen memories that would send my mind spiraling faster than it already had been.
