Chapter 5 Emotional Cracks Appear

Chapter 5

Emotional Cracks Appear

Narrator: Captain Elias "Eli" Ward

Somewhere between cold silence and polite professionalism, something broke.

It didn't shatter all at once. It cracked, slow and quiet, like ice underfoot. The kind of break you don't notice until you've fallen through.

And that's how it started between Lily and me.

Not with a scream or a kiss.

But with a late night, a creaking floorboard, and a ghost.

The night after the town festival, I couldn't sleep. Not that sleep came easy most nights anyway.

My body knew how to shut down. My brain never learned.

I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling of my room in the inn, listening to the wind scraping the siding and the ancient groan of the boiler downstairs. I'd repaired the thermostat that morning, but the pipes still hissed like angry snakes at odd hours.

Ash was curled at the foot of my bed, snoring softly one leg twitching in some dream that probably involved deer or rabbits or something else he'd never catch.

I tossed off the blanket, pulled on a sweatshirt, and stepped out into the hallway.

The lights were dim, a soft amber glow spilling from the hallway sconces we'd salvaged during renovation. I walked barefoot toward the kitchen, more out of habit than need, and paused when I heard a faint sound. Not the house settling. Not a pipe.

Crying.

Quiet. Controlled. But unmistakable.

It was coming from the den.

I moved slowly, almost guiltily, as if caught intruding. When I rounded the corner, I stopped.

Lily was sitting on the floor by the fireplace, knees pulled to her chest, a stack of yellowed envelopes in her lap. Her hair was pulled loose, falling across her face, and she didn't look up when I entered.

I watched her a second too long.

"You gonna stand there all night?" she asked without looking at me.

"I wasn't sure if I should interrupt."

She wiped her cheek with the sleeve of her sweater. "You already did."

I moved closer, slow. "You okay?"

She gave a brittle laugh. "That's a hell of a question."

I nodded and sat down on the far end of the rug, not too close. The silence settled between us like dust. I glanced at the stack of envelopes.

"His letters?" I asked.

She nodded. "From basic training, from deployment, from the weeks before he died."

I rested my arms on my knees, staring into the dark fireplace.

"I burned every one of mine," I said quietly.

She looked at me, startled.

"My letters," I clarified. "On base, we wrote them. 'In case.' You know? The kind they send if you don't come home. I wrote mine three times. Rewrote it every tour. Updated it like it was some cursed will."

She swallowed. "Did you ever send it?"

"No." I looked down. "Didn't have anyone I thought needed it."

That wasn't entirely true, but it was easier than explaining the wreckage I'd left behind.

She shifted, resting her head against the brick of the fireplace. "He talked about you in almost every letter. How you looked out for the guys. How you were the one who made them feel like they mattered."

I stayed silent.

"He believed in you, Eli," she said, voice soft but steady. "Right up until the end."

I closed my eyes.

"I didn't deserve it," I said.

"I know."

It should've stung. It didn't. It felt like truth.

She looked over at me, eyes puffy but clear now. "You blamed yourself, didn't you?"

"Every day."

Her voice dropped. "You made the call that sent him into that building?"

I hesitated.

Then I nodded. "It was me. I gave the order."

She didn't react not visibly. She just sat there, staring at the floor.

"I didn't know that," she said after a while.

"I didn't want you to."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't think you'd come back if you did."

Another silence.

Then, "You were right."

She stood and left the room.

I didn't follow.

The next morning, she was gone before I woke up. Left a note on the fridge about site inspections and meeting Hank at the lumber yard.

I went back to work in the east wing rebuilding the subfloor, hammering in silence, letting the rhythm drown out everything else.

By mid-afternoon, I was cleaning out the old storage room upstairs when I found it.

A fireproof box tucked in the corner behind some charred crates. Locked. I pried it open with a screwdriver.

Inside: old town records, faded photographs, and beneath them, a half-burned envelope.

It was addressed to Luke.

My breath caught.

I pulled it out gently, fingers shaking, and unfolded the photo inside.

It was a picture of Lily and Luke on the steps of the inn. She was laughing, mouth open, eyes half-closed, and he was looking at her like she was the only thing that ever made sense. The corner of the photo had burned, leaving a curl of blackened paper like a scar.

I stared at it for a long time.

Then I closed the box, took the photo, and walked downstairs.

She was in the office, typing on her laptop, glasses perched low on her nose. She didn't look up when I entered.

I cleared my throat. "I found something."

She glanced at me, then at what I held in my hand.

"I thought maybe you'd want this," I said, and placed the photo gently on her desk.

She stared at it for a second.

Then she reached out, fingers trembling as she picked it up.

"Where did you get this?"

"Storage room. Hidden behind some crates."

She blinked fast, as if holding back tears. "I thought this was lost."

"I guess the fire didn't take everything."

She touched the burned edge like it might crumble. "This was... this was right before he left for training. The last picture we took here."

I nodded.

She set the photo down carefully, like it was something sacred.

"Thank you," she said, her voice thick.

I leaned against the doorway. "Lily... I know I'm not who you wanted to be standing next to in this project. Or this marriage. But I want to do this right. For the town. For him. For you, if I can."

She looked up at me.

For the first time, I didn't see the cold edge. Just tiredness. Sadness. Something else, too. Something softer.

"I don't hate you, Eli," she said. "I wanted to. For years. I wanted to find someone to blame."

I nodded. "I understand."

"But when I look at you now... I don't see the man who gave the order. I see the man who carried the weight of it."

We stood there in silence, the air between us no longer sharp. Just heavy. Real.

Maybe even honest.

That night, we ate dinner together for the first time.

Just soup and bread. Simple. Quiet.

Ash begged under the table. Lily fed him scraps when she thought I wasn't looking.

I didn't call her out on it.

Afterward, she washed the dishes while I dried them.

At one point, our hands touched.

Neither of us pulled away.

It wasn't a moment. Not really.

But it was something.

Later, as I lay in bed, the house felt different.

Less like a ruin.

More like a place being rebuilt.

Not just the walls.

But us.

Whatever us was.