Chapter 7 - The Master Bedroom DoorThe autumn wind was howling through the bare branches of the Westchester trees by the time our black town car pulled through the iron gates of the Morrison estate.
Inside the grand foyer, the atmosphere was light, buoyant, and filled with the infectious laughter of two little boys who had no idea what a family court brief was, but knew their daddy had won.
After tucking Justin and Jordan into bed—both boys asleep within minutes, their little hands clutching their favorite stuffed animals—I walked slowly down the long, carpeted upstairs hallway.
The master bedroom door—Lauren’s old room—was standing half-open.
Inside, warm light spilled out across the Persian rug. Annie was standing by the closet, quietly folding a final stack of winter blankets to place on the mahogany shelf. She had her own modest guest suite on the third floor, but she had spent the evening helping transition the master suite into a functional, peaceful guest room—no longer a locked shrine to the dead, but a living space for the living.
I stopped in the doorway, leaning my shoulder against the jamb, watching her in silence.
“You were magnificent today,” I said softly.
Annie turned, a soft, tired smile gracing her lips. She set the blanket down on the edge of the mattress and wiped her hands on her apron. “I just told the truth, Mr. Morrison.”
“Richard,” I corrected gently, stepping into the room.
She paused, her dark eyes looking up at me. “Richard.”
I crossed the room until I stood just inches away from her. The lingering scent of lavender and cedar followed her, grounding me in a way no corporate boardroom or multi-million-dollar asset ever could.
“Marcus wants to put you on a permanent executive retainer,” I said, a faint smile touching my mouth. “Triple your salary, stock options, private health insurance. He says we can’t afford to lose our best asset.”
Annie tilted her head, a playful glint in her eyes. “And what does the CEO say?”
“The CEO says that my best asset isn't an employee,” I whispered, reaching out to gently take her hands in mine. Her fingers were warm, steady, and calloused from a life of hard work and deep love. “She’s the heart of this house. And I don't ever want her to leave.”
Annie looked down at our joined hands, then slowly raised her eyes to meet mine. There was no fear left in her gaze—only a profound, quiet belonging.
“I’m not going anywhere, Richard,” she said softly.
Later that night, long after the house had settled into a deep, peaceful slumber, I stood by the large bay window of the master bedroom, looking out over the moonlit Westchester lawn.
The ghosts of the past hadn't vanished completely—they never do. Lauren’s memory would always live in the green eyes of my sons and the quiet corners of this sprawling estate. But for the first time in fourteen months, the house didn't feel like a mausoleum.
It felt like a home.
May you like
Behind me, the door was wide open, and down the hall, my boys were sleeping safely, knowing someone was watching over them. And down in the kitchen, or up in the quiet guest suite, Annie was resting too.
I took a deep, steady breath of the cool night air, turned away from the glass, and closed the bedroom door—not to lock away the grief, but simply to keep the warmth inside.
