THE LIE THAT WORE A RING - Chapter 24: Chapter 24
You are reading THE LIE THAT WORE A RING, Chapter 24: Chapter 24. Read more chapters of THE LIE THAT WORE A RING.
The mansion had never felt bigger than it did now.
Without Alina’s perfume lingering in the halls, her footsteps echoing on the marble floors, her voice weaving lies between family members—it was quieter.
But it wasn’t peaceful. Not yet.
Nicholas walked the halls at night, often pausing outside Ava’s room, then Ethan’s. He didn’t knock. He just listened. The silence wasn’t as comforting as he hoped.
They were home. But were they whole?
Ava sat on the edge of her bed, sketching again. For the first time in months.
It wasn’t a happy picture.
She drew a cracked mirror, and in each shard was a different face: hers, Ethan’s, her dad’s… and Alina’s.
She stared at it, pencil hovering over the last shard, then slowly, purposefully, she drew a jagged line through Alina’s reflection.
Then she closed the book and set it down.
Ethan had started running.
Every morning at dawn, pounding the pavement along the estate’s private trail, earbuds in, music blasting. He said it helped him breathe again. Helped him stop seeing Alina’s smug smile every time he closed his eyes.
Nicholas joined him once.
The first few minutes were awkward. Just heavy footfalls and heavy silence.
Then Ethan said, “You’re getting slow, old man.”
Nicholas smirked. “You try carrying two kids and ten years of regret.”
They didn’t say much after that. But it was the first time they ran side by side.
And neither of them stopped early.
Therapy continued.
Dr. Harris gently pulled at knots that had formed in their hearts. Ava confessed she still heard Alina’s voice when she looked in the mirror—telling her she wasn’t enough. Ethan admitted he’d considered leaving. Just walking out and disappearing.
Nicholas admitted he was scared of being alone with them. Not because he didn’t love them—but because he didn’t know if he deserved them anymore.
Dr. Harris never judged.
She just said, “Guilt is honest. But healing takes honesty, too. And time.”
One evening, Nicholas called them into the living room.
No formal talk. No rules. Just pizza, mismatched plates, and the old family board games they hadn’t touched in a year.
It started awkwardly.
Then Ava made a sarcastic joke about Nicholas being too competitive with Monopoly, and Ethan called him “The Property Tyrant.” Laughter followed. Real laughter.
And for the first time, the house felt like a home again.
Not perfect.
But real.
Later that night, Ava found a sealed envelope on her desk.
Her name written in her father’s handwriting.
Inside, a short note:
> “I know I let someone hurt you while pretending to protect you. I know you needed me, and I was blind. But I’m here now—fully. For the version of you that cried, that fought, that stopped speaking, and that started again. I’m proud of you. I love you. — Dad.”
She cried when she read it.
Not because it hurt—but because it healed.
In Ethan’s room, Nicholas left an old watch. His father’s. Passed to him when he turned seventeen.
A note tucked underneath:
> “It’s yours now. For every second we lost, and every one we still get. I’ll never miss another one.”
Ethan wore it the next day.
Didn’t say a word.
He didn’t have to.
The family wasn’t what it once was.
But they were something better now.
Not blinded by perfection, not held together by appearances.
They were bound by truth, by scars—and by the quiet, determined promise to move forward.
Together.
Without Alina’s perfume lingering in the halls, her footsteps echoing on the marble floors, her voice weaving lies between family members—it was quieter.
But it wasn’t peaceful. Not yet.
Nicholas walked the halls at night, often pausing outside Ava’s room, then Ethan’s. He didn’t knock. He just listened. The silence wasn’t as comforting as he hoped.
They were home. But were they whole?
Ava sat on the edge of her bed, sketching again. For the first time in months.
It wasn’t a happy picture.
She drew a cracked mirror, and in each shard was a different face: hers, Ethan’s, her dad’s… and Alina’s.
She stared at it, pencil hovering over the last shard, then slowly, purposefully, she drew a jagged line through Alina’s reflection.
Then she closed the book and set it down.
Ethan had started running.
Every morning at dawn, pounding the pavement along the estate’s private trail, earbuds in, music blasting. He said it helped him breathe again. Helped him stop seeing Alina’s smug smile every time he closed his eyes.
Nicholas joined him once.
The first few minutes were awkward. Just heavy footfalls and heavy silence.
Then Ethan said, “You’re getting slow, old man.”
Nicholas smirked. “You try carrying two kids and ten years of regret.”
They didn’t say much after that. But it was the first time they ran side by side.
And neither of them stopped early.
Therapy continued.
Dr. Harris gently pulled at knots that had formed in their hearts. Ava confessed she still heard Alina’s voice when she looked in the mirror—telling her she wasn’t enough. Ethan admitted he’d considered leaving. Just walking out and disappearing.
Nicholas admitted he was scared of being alone with them. Not because he didn’t love them—but because he didn’t know if he deserved them anymore.
Dr. Harris never judged.
She just said, “Guilt is honest. But healing takes honesty, too. And time.”
One evening, Nicholas called them into the living room.
No formal talk. No rules. Just pizza, mismatched plates, and the old family board games they hadn’t touched in a year.
It started awkwardly.
Then Ava made a sarcastic joke about Nicholas being too competitive with Monopoly, and Ethan called him “The Property Tyrant.” Laughter followed. Real laughter.
And for the first time, the house felt like a home again.
Not perfect.
But real.
Later that night, Ava found a sealed envelope on her desk.
Her name written in her father’s handwriting.
Inside, a short note:
> “I know I let someone hurt you while pretending to protect you. I know you needed me, and I was blind. But I’m here now—fully. For the version of you that cried, that fought, that stopped speaking, and that started again. I’m proud of you. I love you. — Dad.”
She cried when she read it.
Not because it hurt—but because it healed.
In Ethan’s room, Nicholas left an old watch. His father’s. Passed to him when he turned seventeen.
A note tucked underneath:
> “It’s yours now. For every second we lost, and every one we still get. I’ll never miss another one.”
Ethan wore it the next day.
Didn’t say a word.
He didn’t have to.
The family wasn’t what it once was.
But they were something better now.
Not blinded by perfection, not held together by appearances.
They were bound by truth, by scars—and by the quiet, determined promise to move forward.
Together.
End of THE LIE THAT WORE A RING Chapter 24. Continue reading Chapter 25 or return to THE LIE THAT WORE A RING book page.