Sunrise after darkness
Chapter 19 – Sunrise After Darkness
Ava Carter POV
Dawn crept into the Thornhart estate like a tentative promise, soft pink light brushing the tall windows of our bedroom. I lay in Damon’s arms, the sheets tangled around us, and listened to his steady breathing. The house was silent—no creaks, no whispers, only the gentle hum of the world waking up beyond these walls.
For the first time in weeks, I felt something I hadn’t dared hope for: peace.
“Morning,” he murmured, his voice deep and warm.
I turned toward him, tracing the line of his jaw with my fingertip. “Good morning.”
He brushed a strand of hair from my face. “How did you sleep?”
I didn’t answer right away. My mind drifted back through the events of the past nights—the broken mirror, the blood oath, the chase through that silver realm to rescue him. It felt like a lifetime ago. “Like I was finally home,” I said softly.
Damon’s lips curved into a smile so rare and beautiful I ached. “We should get up,” he said. “Emilia’s probably hungry.”
I chuckled and stretched, savoring the comfort of his warmth. “Okay.”
---
Downstairs, Margaret waited in the sunlit kitchen. The morning rosemary frittata she’d made filled the room with a fresh, savory aroma. Emilia sat at the table, coloring with a fierce concentration. A new toy—an old music box Margaret had restored—rested beside her.
When Emilia saw us, she beamed and ran into Damon’s arms. “Daddy!”
He lifted her onto his hip and kissed her cheek. “Hey, sweetheart. Feeling better?”
She nodded vigorously. “I’m okay now.”
I kissed her forehead. “Glad to hear it.”
Margaret handed me a coffee. Her eyes softened as she watched us. “You two look well-rested.”
I smiled gratefully. “Thanks to you.”
Her gaze drifted toward Damon, a question in her eyes. He caught it and stepped forward. “We’re planning to head into town today,” he announced.
Margaret raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
Damon nodded. “I need to check the estate records—and pick up a few things. Ava needs to file some paperwork for the house.”
I nodded. “The new business license, plus I’d like to see about having a local therapist for Emilia come by.”
Margaret nodded approvingly. “I know someone.”
---
An hour later, we drove into town—Emilia with her teddy bear pressed to her chest, Damon at the wheel, and me beside him. The roads were dry, the sky clear, as though the storm had never been.
We parked near Maple & Rose Antiques, a small shop Damon’s solicitor had recommended for estate records. Inside, rows of dusty ledgers leaned on wrought-iron shelves. I flipped through volumes until I found the register of homeowners.
“Everything seems to be in order,” I said, marking the pages. “The title transferred properly.”
Damon nodded, scanning his phone for reminders. “Good. Now we can officially list the East Wing as unusable. No liability.”
I closed the book and looked up. “Then it’s ours, completely.”
He took my hand, thumbs rubbing my knuckles. “Completely.”
---
Outside the shop, we met Margaret and Emilia, and a woman approached us. She wore a tailored blazer and carried a leather satchel. Her presence was both professional and kind.
“Mr. Thornhart, Ms. Carter?” she asked, extending a hand. “I’m Mara Lindstrom, child therapist with Maplewood Center.”
Damon shook her hand. “Thank you for coming.”
Mara smiled at Emilia. “And you must be Emilia. I hear you’re quite brave.”
Emilia’s eyes lit up. “I like stories.”
Mara knelt beside her. “Well, I can tell you a lot of stories—and help you feel safe.”
She stood to me. “I’ll come by the house tomorrow, if that works?”
I nodded. “That would be wonderful.”
---
Later, we sat by the riverbank park, sharing ice cream cones. Emilia raced between pigeons and ducks, her giggles bright. Damon watched her, a softness around his eyes that made my heart swell.
I leaned into him. “I’m glad we did this.”
He brushed a strawberry stain from my lips. “Me too.”
We sat in comfortable silence, the day stretched out before us. And then my phone buzzed. An email notification from the house’s previous trustee: Urgent: Concerns about missing heirs’ letters.
I frowned. “My trustee says some letters were missing from the safe deposit I inherited.”
Damon’s smile faltered. “Letters?”
I opened the email. It mentioned correspondence from Damon’s great-uncle, a will codicil that never made it into the official file, and a warning: Someone else was meant to benefit—claims may arise.
I looked at Damon, stomach churning. “Did you know about this?”
He shook his head. “No.” His eyes darkened. “Let’s get back to the house.”
---
By late afternoon, we returned to Thornhart. The estate felt calmer, the sun hitting the turrets just right. But my mind whirled with that email.
In my study, I pulled the trustee’s scanned documents onto my laptop. There it was: a letter from Francis Thornhart—Damon’s great-uncle—naming a beneficiary: one M. Sinclair, to receive the East Wing under certain conditions. The name was crossed out. There was no record afterward.
Damon peered over my shoulder. “M. Sinclair… Margaret Sinclair?”
I hesitated. “Could be.”
He clenched his fist. “She’s our housekeeper. My grandmother’s maid.”
I met Margaret in the hallway. She looked up, startled. “Everything okay?”
I quietly explained. Her eyes went wide. “I…I never knew. I only cleaned.”
Her hands trembled. “This family has secrets I never meant to hold.”
Damon took her hand. “Margaret, I want you to know—”
She shook her head. “Let’s talk in private.”
They slipped into the library, closing the door behind them. I sat at the desk, Emilia by my side, scanning the letter again.
M. Sinclair, expected to inherit the East Wing upon the heir’s death or absence.
Meaning, if Damon never returned… Margaret would have legally owned that section of the estate.
My heart thundered.
---
Damon emerged from the library, Margaret beside him. Her eyes were red.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
He enveloped her in a hug. “It’s not your fault. We’ll figure it out.”
I stepped forward, the letter in hand. “Margaret, this name… you could still claim it.”
She looked at me, tears glistening. “Ava, this place—it’s already cost so much. I don’t want it. It was never my birthright.”
Damon took my hand. “She saved us. She’s family by choice, not by law.”
Margaret sniffled. “I’ll sign any document you need. I just… I care about you both.”
I felt a wave of gratitude and relief.
But a twist still hung in the air. Someone had altered Francis’s letter. Someone had stolen Margaret’s legacy.
And now that the threats of spirits were gone, a new kind of danger had surfaced: human greed.
I looked at Damon. “We have to be careful.”
He nodded, dark resolve in his eyes. “We will. Together.”
Emilia tugged my sleeve. “Mommy, I found this in the garden.”
She held up a small silver key on a ribbon. It glinted in the fading light.
I took it, heart pounding. It wasn’t one of mine or Margaret’s.
Damon crouched beside us. “I don’t recognize that. We should find where it fits.”
My pulse accelerated. Yet again, the house—or someone in it—had a secret to reveal.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, we stood in the grand foyer, the key heavy in my palm. I looked at Damon and Emilia, our small family united.
But the lingering twist, the stolen inheritance, and now this key… it meant our story was far from over.