103

Rose stood overlooking the fields and the forest below the window, the back of the cottage shining in the early light. She no longer cringed at the sight of the tiny building nestled among the trees and foliage. The feelings of anxiety and panic had subsided finally and of late the nightmares had faded away into peaceful slumber again most nights. That night had affected her more than she could ever have guessed and the weeks following in a torrent of anxiety and emotion, afraid to leave Rob’s side, afraid to be alone. She had been jumpy and paranoid, an emotional wreck who could barely sleep and convinced attackers were always lurking in the shadows waiting for her.

The counsellor had assured her that it was normal, she had been through something traumatic and it had affected her on many levels. Rob had squeezed her hand through every session, unable to even be alone to talk to a therapist and needing him more than ever to make her feel safe.

Rob was strong and patient, ever understanding of what she was going through. Holding her close whenever he saw her waver, always gentle with her, despite her moods and erratic tears. Taking as much time away from work as he could to calm her frayed nerves, reassure her and help her slowly settle back into a life and routine. He had been on edge too, for weeks, unable to rest easy without her by his side and always checking in on her almost obsessively. He had taken her on every business trip that he could, she had finally had her weekend in the French villa and it had done them a power of good. He would brush away shadows in the corners for her, leaving lights on at night even when he was laid by her side, always there, close enough to protect her, should she falter.

She had not stepped foot in that cottage again for months, letting him take control of its maintenance and clean up. The first time she had tried, an overwhelming wave of nausea had overtaken her; a severe panic attack. She had felt as though she was being strangled, her heart crashing and clawing to get out. Her vision had begun to blacken, and he had picked her up, taken her outside into the air, helped her bend down to catch her breath and push the panic back down again.

She had been stubborn, despite that episode, steeled in her decision that she wouldn’t let Morag do this to her. Persistent and walking down there with Muffin and Rob a few times and always the same feelings arose within her. She had finally been able to open that door and walk in without falling apart when her emotional scars had begun to heal. Able to look around and feel a tinge of that affection for the place returning, slowly. Spending longer moments at every visit and frequently wandering down there with Rob, knowing how important it was that she overcame her fear of being there.

Rob had gone straight back into overdrive, securing the manor for her, making all the changes he had planned and then some, just so she could sleep easier at night within the manor walls. Not that it had been necessary anymore; Morag was gone. But he needed to feel like he was doing more to protect her; it was as much for his healing as hers. She had been thankful of the fortress he built around them, it had in a way, eased her into recovery quicker. The security of living within safe walls and fences, camera’s and intercoms that made access to her near impossible, unless they were invited.

Morag was far away now; she had been committed to a long term psychiatric ward after the court case, pending assessments and treatments and deferring jail time. The judge, seeing a woman with deep emotional issues and a traumatic history thanks to her solicitor who had painted a heart-breaking picture, took pity on her.

Morag had a long history of mental illness, inherited from a mother who had been inflicted with the same pain and suffering. She had committed suicide when Morag was only seven years old and had been the one to find her, blue and contorted on the bathroom floor, foaming at the mouth from the cocktail of drugs she had ingested; a sight no little girl should ever have to endure. Morag had then been left alone after that, to an abusive alcoholic father who mentally, sexually and physically abused her. Always silent about what he was doing, afraid it would make it worse, she had given birth to a premature stillborn at the age of fourteen alone in the woods. It had rendered her unable to conceive children, a fact even Rob seemed shocked to hear in that echoing courtroom, knowing that the lie about a baby, years before, had run far deeper. The solicitor had gone on to explain that after giving birth to a still born, premature, she had hidden the body by burying it in the hills surrounding her family home.

Her father had finally been jailed years later when, still abusing her, when she had found the courage to speak out. With the support of a man she had fallen in love with, Rob Munro, he had given her the courage and strength to finally to end the agony with his support. Rose had looked up at him at that point, his face still and deadpan while he listened to the story being laid out and her heart swelled at what she was learning, who the man she was marrying had been, even from an early age, and understood more than ever why he had tried to hide their relationship at first.

Morag had attempted suicide in her early twenties, Rose knowing that this had been when Rob had broken things off with her which had resulted in a long hospital stay and continuous mental health support since. She had been diagnosed with an array of mental health issues, most of which required medication that made her feel groggy and unable to carry on with a normal life. Affecting everything she did, and she often made the bad decision to stop her treatments in a bid to feel more lucid. Her only constant support had been her friend Mr Munro. The nearing of his wedding to the victim, Miss Turner, causing her a complete breakdown and anguish at the loss of the only stable thing in her life. She had lost control of her faculties, pushed by heartbreak and anguish and had not meant for things to get out of control in that way.

It had given Rose more insight, pity and sorrow for her, than she had ever thought she could feel. Looking at her pale dishevelled frame across the silent room, she had seen only despair. A woman locked inside her own head, her own prison cell of agony and torture. She had felt pained at the hopelessness in her eyes and that deep understanding of why Rob had always felt compelled to try and save her. She looked like a wounded unloved animal that so desperately just wanted to find someone to love and take care of her. But Rose could never forgive her for hurting Muffin.

Rob sat motionless, barely taking his eyes from Morag throughout the defense speech. Unreadable, no sign of anything except indifference. Morag had made the one mistake that she could not take back. She had harmed Rose and lost every last ounce of feeling he ever had for her, she had made him sever compassion and he was watching her as though he didn’t know her at all. He was only here to make sure she was punished for it; he didn’t feel empathy or sorrow for her anymore.

The judge had not sent her to jail for the crimes of which she had been found guilty. Aggravated Assault, taking a hostage, Unlawful use of a weapon. Attempted murder of Muffin. The police had piled a list of charges against her that mostly sounded ridiculous, but instead, she had been sent for evaluation and help and was going to be where she needed to be. It was far, far away. Chosen by her defense in a bid to separate her from the people and surroundings that were fueling her ongoing misery, the judge had agreed.

Rose had felt nothing but heartbreak for her as she had watched her lifeless cold face in the courtroom when the judge made his speech, the way her eyes lingered on Rob as she was being taken away by uniformed men. Devoid of any signs of life and just broken. Rob had turned to Rose, away from her gaze and slid his arm around her, pulling her temple against his mouth and kissing her lingeringly.

A last message, or an act of cruelty?

Maybe relief that she would finally be gone. Rose had watched the woman go, that look haunting her for days after, seeing her in her mind’s eye and remembering nothing but the look of complete devastation.

In her absence, Morag had instructed her own solicitor to sell her house and car and she had them inform Rob that he no longer had to worry about her. That she was sorry for everything she had done and knew she would never be a part of his life or future ever again. Rob shrugged the man away, told him he did not want to hear it and tried to shuffle Rose quickly out of the court room, a protective arm around her, but he held out a letter to Rose as they did so.

To Rose, it was an apology letter that Rose never read, never opened and never kept. Rose had burned it in the fire of their bedroom when they had gotten home, Rob standing silently by with no resistance.

Rob had received a long thin envelope on legal stationary weeks after the trial, word from her lawyer that she intended to make a life away from here when she was finally well enough to be released and handed in her resignation at the museum, not that it had been needed. He had already relinquished her duties to a new museum curator who was turning the old building into a much more attractive place to visit. Rob was still donating money as he got things underway and things were looking promising for the old relic.

Morag was finally choosing to walk out of his life. Letting him go. Letting them move on with theirs to finally be able to focus on just them. To put all the endless mess, heartache, drama, and confusion to bed, finally.

The manor was finally complete. She knew Rob had pressed the contractors to work fast and he had her mind occupied with fabric swatches, paint charts and trips to an endless array of home decor boutiques for weeks in a bid to help her. They made a start on other parts of the house too, bringing some cosy and modern touches to its vast emptiness. Keeping her busy, motivated and distracted. It had helped. The focus on something other than her over active imagination and paranoia was a welcome relief and she could go hours without dwelling on any of it.

Muffin had recovered fully, no long-term damage and was soon running about wildly like his old little self. Helping to heal her heart. Rose had been right, something Rob never stopped apologising for and glad that Muffin had pulled through. The court case had revealed how the other woman had left poisoned meat in the garden in a bid to hurt the little animal and get at Rose. A sadistic move to inflict the same pain on her that Morag felt she was going through herself and a bid to try and scare her to leave the village. Premeditated and just a shocking reality of how far down that road of mental illness Morag had slipped. Rob had looked ashen in court for the first time, shaking his head in bewilderment and staring at her with eyes that seared. He didn’t know who she was anymore; he had been in minor shock at the admission and it had only pushed him further into his hatred for her.

Rose took a sabbatical from her work, but finally a few weeks ago she had picked up a paintbrush and began to work her magic on watercolor paper. The peace of mind and tranquility returning enough to let her enjoy the process once again. Her mind was happy to settle on the task in hand once more and her agent had been thrilled. Always encouraging and ever understanding. She was healing, she was finally back to being more like the Rose they all missed.