Within These Walls (Within These Walls #1)(82)

As I drove out of the city that Saturday afternoon, heading down the winding roads toward the house my grandfather had built and passed down to our family, I realized I’d never get to bring Lailah here. I’d never walk her through the gardens my parents loved or pick roses for her like my father once had for my mother. It was the first time I doubted my decision.

Two long lives without each other—is it worth it?

Turning off the road, I drove down the tree-lined driveway until I came to the main gate. Hoping my security code hadn’t been voided, I entered the six-digit combination and waited. The click of the gate had me lurching forward again. Apparently, they had retained some hope after all.

After entering the gate, the view was still as breathtaking as I remembered. Intricately laid bricks made a circular path down the palatial estate of my childhood memories. It still reminded me more of a castle than a house, but as a kid playing hide-and-seek in the cupboards and hallways, it hadn’t mattered what it was called as long as I wasn’t the one getting caught. If it weren’t for my mother, I didn’t think I would have gotten those rare moments away from tutors and textbooks.

The front door opened as I pulled up front, and I saw tears leaking from my mother’s eyes as her hands went to her mouth. She’d aged since the last time I saw her. The dark blonde hair she’d always kept perfectly styled was now gray around the edges and cut short. Tiny lines had formed around her green eyes, and she’d traded her designer pantsuits for something a bit more casual.

Rising from the car, I slowly walked the short distance to where she stood.

“My baby boy,” she choked out, lunging into my tight hold.

“I’m so sorry, Mom,” I said, apologizing for everything from being a selfish person to a horrible son.

“You’re here now,” she replied, taking a step back. Her eyes roamed over me. “That’s all that matters. Let’s go inside, shall we?”

Her arm still linked in mine, I followed her through the double doors, taking a deep breath as I entered. There was always a faint smell of lemons and fresh flowers in the entryway. As the smell hit my senses, I couldn’t help but travel back a ways to long-forgotten summer days when Roman and I would torment the cleaning staff as they had spent hours polishing the ornate wooden banister.

“It hasn’t changed a bit,” I commented, taking a look around at the circular foyer.

A large bright bouquet of flowers sat in the center on an antique table that had been my grandmother’s.

“No, not here,” she said sadly. “But in other places, yes. Your father and I live here permanently now. We sold the penthouse in the city two years ago when…”

I nodded, not needing further explanation. Roman had already filled me in on the physical demise of my once formidable father. Early signs of dementia had set in a few months after the accident, and my mother had made the decision to relocate to the country, tucking him away from the board. It must have been obvious to the investors that my father wasn’t well, but Roman had believed that the board held out hope I’d return and take over instead of my brother.

“I missed you,” she said.

We took a seat in the grand living room together.

“I know. I missed you, too. I just had to…I couldn’t come back.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation, Jude. I can’t begin to understand what you went through when Megan died. It hurts me that you didn’t come to me. It does, but I will never hold that against you. A heart does what it needs to in order to heal. Please tell me you’ve allowed yourself to do so?”

“Yes,” I answered. “I was finally able to say good-bye.”

She took my hand in hers. They felt softer, thinner than I remembered.

“Then, why do you look so destroyed?”

“It’s a long story.”

“No story is ever too long for a mother to hear.” She smiled.

I didn’t know where to start, so I started at the very beginning. I told her about the accident and losing Megan—how I’d never gotten to say good-bye and the pain I’d caused by forcing her parents out of the organ donations.

“They didn’t reconsider after she passed?” she asked.

“No,” I replied. “Megan’s mother was so broken by her death. I don’t think either of them had anything left to give at that point.”

I told her about my work in the hospital, about moving up and obtaining my license. She actually smiled and seemed proud.

And then, I told her about Lailah.

I told her about the way Lailah lit up a room, how she babbled when she was nervous, and that she had the most amazing heart—the most amazing broken heart of anyone I’d ever known.

“She’s dying,” I managed to say.

I went on to explain, detailing our late-night pudding conversations and how I’d discovered I was the reason she’d missed out on her first transplant.

“How did she even know?” she asked.

“Her doctor. He’s her uncle. In his blind love for her, he told her before it was official.”

“She should have never known.”

“I know, but she does, and I can’t blame Marcus for loving her. It’s an easy thing to do,” I said.

I moved ahead and told her about what Lailah had decided after the denial from the insurance company and why I’d left.