Page 61 of The Clifftop Cottage

Hadn’t it?

He clenched his jaw.

Erica believed in records. Evidence. Proof. But some things weren’t written down. They were carried. Passed from hand to hand, bone to bone.

Still …

He glanced at the laptop again.

Erica wasn’t toying with something dangerous. She wasn’t treating it like a story. She was honouring them. The forgotten. The silenced.

Gabriel dragged a hand down his face.

“I’m making a mess of this,” he murmured.

Chep shifted closer, warm and solid against his shin. Gabriel scratched behind his ear, and the dog sighed, heavy and content.

He leaned back in the chair, staring at the firelight climbing the stone.

He didn’t know what he’d do yet.

But he knew one thing.

He owed her an apology.

When morning came, the storm had passed.

Light slipped through the thin gap in the curtains and brushed across Gabriel’s face, but he had already been awake, staring at the ceiling.

Say their names. Let them be heard.

The words came back without effort, as if they had settled somewhere deep and refused to move. He let out a slow breath.

And with the words came another thought. A quiet shame following.

How had he left her there all night, alone in the middle of a storm?

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat there for a moment, elbows on his knees, staring at the floorboards.

What kind of man did that?

He hadn’t meant to be cruel. He never wanted to turn away when someone was trying to do something decent. That was the thing his mother had never let him forget.

Some people listen, Gabriel. Some people notice. That’s a kindness that matters.

A slow realisation unfurled in him.

Erica was meant to be here. Meant to do this.

And maybe he was meant to help her.

He stood abruptly, nearly stepping on Chep, who lifted his head with a sleepy grunt.

“Sorry, lad.”

The decision was already made. He just hadn’t realised it yet.

By the time he was dressed, shaved, and pulling on his jacket, the restlessness in him had sharpened into purpose.