Love Comes in the Mourning door Erin Bevan
Love Comes in the Mourning
Beschrijving
Recently divorced and down on her luck, Lesley DeLoach is determined to make a new life for herself. When she inherits her great aunt's estate, Rosalyn Manor, her future seems to be heading in the right direction-until she sees the home's crumbling skeleton. Widower John Hambrice is barely keeping his construction company afloat and his children fed, so when he's offered a job restoring the Rosalyn Manor he can't turn it down. But the big city client with the high falutin lifestyle reminds him too much of the last time he was burned by big money. As the summer temperatures rise, so does their attraction. He learns there's more to the city girl than he expected, while she learns the country boy's gruff exterior hides a heart of gold. But each has lost so much in love already...is the chance of another broken heart worth the risk?
Hoofdstuk 1
Apr 15, 2025
Prologue
John Hambrice sat in a stiff, beige hospital chair next to his wife’s bed. The chair he’d come to know as the seat of angst had a permanent indention of his ass. Every day for the past two months, he’d planted his body right between Sandra and the large wall-to-wall window covered with the most sterile blinds he’d ever seen.
The humdrum sound of machines buzzing and beeping all around him had become a sort of music, a bittersweet symphony, letting him know she was still alive, leaving him another moment to kiss her, hold her, and let her know he loved her.
He turned his head toward the window as sunlight dared to peek through the crevices of the blinds, causing a reflective glow against the floor. Pretty soon, just like every morning for the past eight weeks, the sunlight would creep oh-so-slowly up the pale green wall—a paint color that was supposed to help soothe, a nurse had once told him.
What a crock of shit.
Paint couldn’t soothe a man’s heart as it shattered bit by bit while he watched his wife’s soul leave her body a little every day. A paint color couldn’t grow her hair back, find the cure for cancer, or even help her keep food down one meal at a time, one day at a time.
No.
Paint didn’t soothe. That was just some lie the home improvement stores told their customers. He should know. He was, after all, a contractor.
Yet, out of everything he had constructed and rebuilt to its former glory, the one thing he couldn’t repair was Sandra’s body. A husband was supposed to protect his wife, his family…and he was failing her. Failing them all.
He gripped the arm of the chair until his biceps burned as he counted to ten to try and slow his racing heart. Despite the odds, he wouldn’t give up. As long as she would fight, so would he, even if that meant he had to sit in the same damn chair for a solid year, he would do it. Do it for her. Do it for his family. Do it for him.
Sandra took in a deep breath and opened her eyes. Her bright pink scarf that wound tightly around her scalp brought out the blue in her irises. “Good morning,” she said, her voice soft and her skin paler than the night before.
“Good morning, lovely.” He stood and reached to grip the hand that had become like a second skin to him. She was all he had ever dreamed and more since he was a boy. He’d loved her from the moment they sat beside each other in eighth grade science. There wasn’t much of a time in his life he could remember without Sandra in it. And he didn’t want to start now.
“What time is it?” she asked, her words soft and low.
He glanced down at his watch. “A little before seven.”
“When is Emma bringing the kids by?”
“Before preschool, so it should be soon. Do you want some breakfast? I can go to the cafeteria and get you something.”
She shook her head. No surprise there. The past few weeks, she’d eaten barely anything more than gelatin. Still, he could wish.
“John,” she began, her voice still low. “Come sit by me.”
Her gaze dulled of all shine. All the energy he was used to seeing from his wife, gone. Her body grew more tired every day, he knew, but she was strong. So strong. She can survive this.
He propped on the edge of her bed and kept hold of her hand. Her grip, though not as firm as it had been when she was healthier, held tight to him.
“John.” She licked her lips. “There’s something we need to talk about.”
She stopped and reached for her water. Aiding her, he handed her the cup and positioned the straw to her mouth. His heart pounded as she drank. Most days, she lay in bed, happy and content to just sit with him. Today, she had news. He pushed his fear of what she would say aside and concentrated on her. This was her time, their time.
She shoved the cup away with her palm, and he placed the plastic container back on her end table. “What were you saying?”
“I’m…”
The little pitter-patter of footsteps echoed through the hall, and a glimmer, although slight, shown in her eyes for the briefest of seconds as she glanced to the door.
Her babies.
Sandra loved her children with the fiercest loyalty, just as he loved her.
His heart sprang for a new reason, happy to have his family all in one place—together. A soft smile touched his wife’s lips, and a tear pierced her eye. Each moment his family got to be together, holding each other, was a gift he cherished. A gift they all treasured, as Sandra’s body grew weaker with each passing day.
Matthew and Rachel ran into the room, raucous balls of energy for so early in the morning.
“Mommy!” they yelled in unison.
Matt sprinted to him and threw his arms up. “I want to sit by Mommy.” He jumped on his toes, reaching, begging John to hoist him in the air and place him on her bed.
“No, it’s my turn,” Rachel protested, pulling on John’s shirt.
“Calm down, guys. You can both sit by her.” Emma closed the door to the hospital room behind her. “Morning.” His sister crossed the room and gave Sandra a kiss on the cheek.
“You know the rules.” John reached down and hoisted Matt onto the bed. “No shoes on Mommy’s blankets.” He unlaced their son’s sneakers and tossed them on the floor.
Matt scurried to his mother’s side, opened his arms wide, and wrapped his limbs around Sandra’s neck. More tears welled in her eyes as their boy squeezed with all his might. John’s pounding heart clenched tighter, and he had to glance away before he shed tears himself.
Strong.
He had to be strong. For everyone, but more so for himself.
“You next, sweetheart.” He turned to Rachel, but their little girl ignored his outstretched arms, kicked off her shoes, and threw a leg over the bed, doing her best to pull herself up. He put his hands on her waist and gave her a boost, ignoring her protests.
Rachel crawled over and nestled herself next to Sandra. “Mommy, why are you crying?” She wiped a tear from her mother’s pale cheek.
Sandra glanced back at him. He stared at his family, his heart and soul, his life, and tried to etch the image in his mind. Deep down, he knew what message his wife tried to convey through her eyes, but he didn’t want to know. How would he ever raise their two children without her?
He glanced over at Emma, a pleasant smile held on her face. Even when things were at their worst, she always held herself together with grace and poise. A trait he admired, and fed from in that moment. He squared his shoulders and swallowed, his tongue feeling almost too thick for his mouth.
Sandra glanced back at their beautiful daughter. “I’m just so happy to see you, that’s why.” She squeezed Rachel closer to her side and kissed her rosy cheek.
Everyone in the room grew silent as they all gathered around his beautiful wife. The moment was too still, too close to death.
Sandra wasn’t dead.
“Kids, tell Mom how school was yesterday,” he said, purposefully breaking the silence.
Quick words poured from their little mouths as Matthew and Rachel talked over each other, telling her about their previous day, their art projects, and what they would do today. John stood with Emma beside the bed and watched as his wife listened to her babies, nodding at the appropriate times. He knew what she was doing—exactly what he would do—suck up the sound of their voices, notice the tilt of Rachel’s head as she spoke, and the comical gestures Matthew made with his eyes, enjoying what she thought as her last few minutes with her children.
But they weren’t.
They couldn’t be. His children needed their mother, and he needed his wife. She had to fight. He would make her understand.
A click sounded as the heavy wooden door to the room swung open. Doctor Bryan stepped in, his demeanor kempt, and his eyes well rested, yet his smile didn’t shine in them. He walked to the edge of the bed. “Good morning, everyone.”
“Morning, Doc.” Matt gave the man a toothless grin.
Emma picked up Matthew’s shoes from the floor. “I suppose I should go ahead and take the kids to school.”
John’s adrenaline soared. Not yet. No. He wanted to keep his family together for as long as possible, but an unmovable lump had formed in his throat. He couldn’t speak.
“Just a second, please.” Sandra waved a hand toward Emma. “Doctor Bryan,” she continued, “Do you think you can maybe come back in ten minutes?”
John let out a heavy sigh. Yes. Ten more minutes for his kids to be held by their mother. Ten more minutes for her love to rain down on them.
“No problem.” The doctor nodded, his gaze staying on her a second longer than necessary. “I’ll just go look over your chart.” He grabbed the clipboard from the end of her bed and glanced over their family once more before he ambled out.
Sandra embraced both their children and squeezed. Her arms shook as she wrapped them in her grasp. “I love you two, do you know that?”
They both nodded.
“Rachel, your new dress is beautiful just like you. Don’t ever forget how wonderful you are, okay?” She placed a kiss on their daughter’s soft forehead.
“Okay, Mommy.”
She reached down to tickle Matt’s toes. “And you, big man. Look at how big those feet are getting.”
His whole body wriggled with delight as the freckles on his face danced with his laughter.
“Be nice to that little girl that wants to kiss you. You never know, she might be your wife one day.”
Just like us.
“No way.” He shook his head. “Girls are nasty.”
She ran a hand through Matt’s hair, causing the strands to stick up, then placed a kiss on his cheek. “I love you, big guy. You kiddos, be good for your Aunt Emma, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am,” they said in unison.
Her goodbyes sounded too much like forever sendoffs. After the children left, he would talk to her. Renew her strength. She had to fight.
He and Emma pulled the children off the bed and helped them with their shoes.
“I’ll see you later, Mommy.” Rachel blew her mother a kiss, and Sandra pretended to grab it. His heart clutched again as his own tears threatened to escape.
Be strong.
“Okay, honey.” Sandra dabbed a wayward tear with the back of her hand.
“Have a good day.” Emma reached around to hug Sandra.
She whispered something to his sister, and when Emma pulled back, she gave his wife a brief frown, then nodded.
What was that about?
Emma wrapped her arms around Rachel and Matthew. “Come on, kids. Time for school. Tell your mommy goodbye, and you love her.”
“Bye, Mommy. I love you,” their children each said and waved to her again before leaving the room.
They listened to the sound of little feet hitting the tile floor until they couldn’t hear them anymore.
“Our kids love you so much.” John stepped closer to the bed and gripped her hand again, more pressure building behind his eyes. “You have to be strong for them, for me. The doctors will fix this.”
“John,” Sandra whispered, and her clasp shook in his. “You have to face the facts. I’m dying.”
“No.” He raised a hand to silence her. “I won’t talk about this.” He jerked his other hand away from hers and paced the room, wanting to punch a hole in that peppy green paint.
“John, please. I don’t have much time left.”
“Stop. Stop right now.” He froze and glared at her. Tears filled his eyes, and he didn’t care to try and stop them. He was tired of being strong, tired of fighting his emotions. She had to see her dying would kill him, too. “You have to survive.” His voice cracked. “I can’t do this alone. I need you. The children need you.”
“You and the children will be okay.” She held her hand out for him.
He stayed glued to his spot. “How do you know that?”
“Because…” Sandra dropped her hand to the bed. “I’ve been doing a lot of talking with God. You have angels watching over you, and I’ll always watch over you. Have faith. You’re going to remarry a wonderful woman. I know it. And the children, they’ll love her as if she were their own mother.”
“No.” John shook his head. Fat, wet drops slid down his cheeks. How could she talk like this? “You are their mother. They don’t need a new mother.”
“John.” Sandra gasped as if it were hard for her to speak. “Please, come sit beside me.”
His beautiful wife lay there, breaking, right in front of him. If he didn’t have the energy to stay strong, keep the tears away, then why did he think she had any more strength to hold on to a body that was working against her? He could fix so many things…but he couldn’t fix this. He couldn’t fix her.
His head hung like his heart as he shuffled back toward her and sat.
“You have to be strong.”
She placed her palm to his cheek and raised his chin. Their gazes met, and their souls locked, just as they had from the moment he first saw her.
“I’m tired, John. I’ve had a wonderful life. There isn’t anything I would change. You and the children are my greatest accomplishments.”
He glanced away from her gaze, her tears too much for him to take in. His line of vision met the big, stupid, sunny window. Not a dark cloud in the sky to represent the somber mood in the room, while a stark white dove, as white as the dumb blinds, landed on the windowsill and looked into the room.
She lowered her hand from his face and laced her fingers between his. “Please, just hold me.”
John pulled her close and pressed her cheek against his chest. He took in her lavender soap, the size of her small hands, and her blue eyes, determined to remember his wife. Her beauty, her big heart, and the joy she brought him. Pulling her scarf away, he placed a slow, sweet kiss on her bare head, his tears falling on her skin.
“I can hear your heart, John.”
“It’s yours. Always has been.” He bit back a sob and pulled her closer.
“I love you,” she whispered before she fell into a peaceful sleep.
Though her heart continued to beat, and the machines continued to buzz, Sandra’s body grew limp in his arms. His beautiful wife’s spirit left his world the same instant the dove flew away from the windowsill, taking a piece of him with her.
Still, he held her, holding on to hope until a doctor told him all was lost. In his head, he knew the battle was over, but in his heart, he fought on.
Love Comes in the Mourning
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