Ten Days to Leave My Stepbrother (Beatrice) novel Chapter 9

**Across Quiet Meadows Rise Dreams Waiting For Their Moment**
**Chapter 9**

**288 Vouchers**

A staff member approached, cradling a new urn in his hands, its surface gleaming softly in the muted light of the cemetery.

With trembling fingers, Beatrice delicately poured the last remnants of ash from her palm into the vessel, each grain a fragment of her father’s essence. She felt the weight of the moment settle heavily on her shoulders as she bowed deeply before the grave, the chill of the air wrapping around her like a shroud.

“Dad, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking with emotion. “I’ve let you down. I loved the wrong person.”

She paused, her heart aching with the truth of her words. “Dad, please forgive me. I couldn’t protect you.”

Tears threatened to spill as she continued, “I have to leave soon. I won’t be able to visit you for the next few years.”

After three solemn bows, she lifted her head, her gaze drawn to a flock of crows cawing and soaring through the dusky sky, their silhouettes stark against the fading light.

A trickle of blood, a painful reminder of her inner turmoil, traced a path from her forehead, gliding down past her red-rimmed eyes.

It felt as if her sorrow had manifested itself in that crimson streak—tears of blood, a testament to her grief.

As dusk settled like a heavy blanket, Beatrice turned away from the cemetery, her heart laden with sorrow. She made her way home, alone, dragging the remnants of her past—a collection of belongings she had meticulously sorted just days before—down the stairs, each step echoing her heartache.

With a fierce determination, she tossed the secret crush diary, filled with dreams and fantasies of Maverick, into the fire. The flames licked hungrily at the pages, devouring her hopes.

The matching couple’s items she had secretly purchased, each a symbol of a love that never fully blossomed, found their way into the trash, a final farewell to what could have been.

The candid photos of laughter and shared moments with Maverick were sliced into pieces, one by one, as if severing the ties that bound her to him.

After purging her past, she retreated to her room. The moment she closed the door, she heard the front door creak open downstairs, and her heart raced.

Locking her door, she turned off the light and curled up on her bed, enveloped by darkness, the quiet amplifying her turmoil.

Soon, a soft knock echoed through the stillness.

“Bex, open the door,” Maverick pleaded, his voice a mix of desperation and regret.

“Bex, let me explain,” he continued, his tone earnest and filled with longing.

But Beatrice remained silent, tears flowing unchecked down her cheeks, each drop a testament to her pain.

What was there to explain?

Did he need to clarify that he hadn’t been using her for revenge? Or perhaps he wanted to justify why he hadn’t stood by her when Maribel shattered her father’s urn?

Time seemed to stretch endlessly as she sat in the darkness, her heart heavy with unspoken words.

After what felt like an eternity, the knocking ceased, replaced by the incessant buzzing of her phone.

Beatrice glanced at the screen, seeing Maverick’s name flash repeatedly with a barrage of explanatory texts. With a sense of finality, she opened his profile, blocked him, and deleted his contact, severing the last thread connecting them.

Throughout the night, no matter what sounds filtered through her window, Beatrice remained resolute in her silence, shutting out the world around her.

The following morning, the familiar sound of her mother’s voice broke through her fog of despair. Gathering her courage, she finally opened the door and threw herself into Celia’s comforting embrace.

Celia, though unsure of what had transpired, wrapped her arms around her daughter, patting her back gently, reminiscent of the tender moments from Beatrice’s childhood.

Maverick, who had spent the night in restless turmoil, observed the scene from a distance, a mixture of regret and longing etched across his face. After a long pause, he turned away, retreating downstairs, leaving a palpable tension in the air.

In the days that followed, Beatrice sought refuge in her mother’s room, avoiding Maverick at all costs. Together, they packed her belongings, sharing whispered secrets and laughter that felt like a balm to her wounded heart.

Each night, they held each other close, the warmth of Celia’s embrace providing a sense of peace that Beatrice had longed for.

On the eve of her departure, Beatrice wished to sleep beside her mother once more, but Celia, concerned that their late-night conversations would rob her daughter of precious sleep, insisted she rest properly in her own room.

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