CHAPTER TWENTY. The Lowry Boy

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Content Warning: S*icide, Grief

APRIL SPEAKS: This chapter deals with very heavy topics, so I wanted to make sure I conveyed this to y'all before continuing and leave resources below for anyone who may be struggling, as well as for someone who knows of someone else struggling. You are not alone. You are incredibly valued & loved. You deserve to be here. I love you.

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Theodore, called Teddy by most, Lowry was born into one of the wealthiest families in the country. Born into one of the wealthiest families in America, he grew up surrounded by luxury, social status, and the expectations that came with his family's name.

His father had built a banking empire, his mother was a respected philanthropist, and his upbringing was one of refinement—private schools, Ivy League universities, polo matches, and high-society galas. Teddy was tall, handsome, charismatic, and seemingly destined for greatness. But beneath the polished exterior, something darker festered.

At the heart of his social life was Josette Chevalier. Josette had an ethereal allure that captivated him greatly. With her gentleness and grace, a quiet beauty that seemed to contrast sharply with the ostentatious world around them.

Their engagement had been arranged, a union that made perfect sense on paper—two prominent families tying their fortunes together. Yet, despite the outward appearance of happiness, Teddy had grown increasingly distant and disillusioned as the wedding planning began.

A whirlwind of pressure from both their families, the crushing expectations of societal norms, and his own internal turmoil left Teddy in a deep emotional crisis. His life, despite its outward success, felt hollow and suffocating, a perfect façade masking the chaos brewing beneath.

The man who seemed destined for greatness appeared to be unraveling, and in the quiet desperation of his thoughts, he saw no way out.

One fateful evening, in a final act of despair, Teddy took his own life, leaving behind a note that blamed Josette for his demise. The note was a culmination of his confusion, his belief that she, in her fragility and her silence, had somehow driven him to this end.

That was the curated reality, the story and assumptions made, despite Josette's encounters with the man that proved his anguish to be an untruth.

Despite this, family, friends, and society all rallied around Josette in their grief, devastated by the loss of such a promising young man. Yet, those closest, knew the contents of the note.

They knew that Josette was to blame.

And Josette began to adopt that very same belief.

But the truth, though hidden behind layers of grief and tradition, was far more sinister than anyone could have imagined.

It was not Josette's actions that had led to Teddy's tragic end, but rather her father's. Charles had long held doubts about Teddy's worth.

To Charles, Teddy, despite his wealth and charm, was too weak, too fragile, and lacked the fortitude to be part of their family's legacy. Charles believed that Josette could do better—that her future lie with a man with the capability to uphold the Chevalier name with the same iron will he had.

When Charles learned that Teddy and Josette were truly in love, he could not bear the thought of such a union, fearing it would diminish the Chevalier family's stature. Driven by pride, envy, and an insidious desire to control the narrative of his daughter's future, Charles meticulously staged Teddy's death, making it appear as though the young man had taken his own life in a fit of despair, blaming Josette.

To keep her in line. To keep her confined to the walls of the Chevalier pen. To keep her.

Charles' calculated cruelty extended to manipulating Teddy's final moments, ensuring that the young man would leave behind a note that implicated Josette. The tragedy, a carefully constructed illusion, was meant to break the fragile girl's spirit, casting her as the catalyst for Teddy's death and leaving her emotionally shattered.

And it was, as many of Charles' pursuits were, a success.

Now, that girl stood nearly at the edge of the Chevalier property, her feet half-buried in the tall field grass that sways gently against the breeze. The air was heavy with the scent of pine and freshly-tilled earth.

The fading light of dusk paints everything in warm golds and soft shadows, giving the scene a dreamlike quality. Her posture is both hesitant and determined, shoulders squared but hands clasped tightly in front of her, betraying the nervous energy she's trying to suppress.

Her gaze is fixed on the small cottage in the distance, nestled among thick trees at the far end of the property. She's been here countless times before, but never like this—never with this quiet, burning need to speak.

She can almost feel the weight of the conversation before it begins, the words already forming in her chest. Jack is there, in that humble home. She doesn't know how to bridge the space between them, how to make it all seem less impossible, but she knows she can't wait any longer.

The wind picks up, tousling her copper hair and pulling at the hem of her lavender skirt. She takes a deep breath, steadying herself. The distance feels immense, but she steps forward, each step a little more certain, as if the very act of moving will push her closer to what she needs to say.

            Her hand rises, ready to knock, but for a moment, she hesitates, wondering if it's the right time, wondering if he'll be there at all.

            Just as her knuckles brush against the wooden door, it swings open with a creak. He stands there, wide-eyed, his surprise evident as his gaze locks onto hers.

            His expression shifts from confusion to something softer—something that stirs inside her, making her pulse quicken. The door had barely groaned before it was pulled wide, and now there's only the space between them, the unspoken tension thick in the air. His hand still rests on the doorknob, the faintest tremor betraying his own surprise at seeing her standing there, so close.

            For a moment, they both freeze, the world narrowing to just the two of them—her on the doorstep, and him, standing in the doorway of the life she's not quite sure if she'll been able to enter with severe consequence.

            She hadn't spoken, or so much as caught a glimpse of the man, since he'd admitted his growing devotion to her. That confession had left her breathless, but she hadn't known what to say in return, and silence had stretched between them ever since.

            She just couldn't bear it any longer. And, in truth, neither could he.

            "Josette," Jack hums, his voice low, gravelly in a way that made her stomach curl. "What, uh—" he lifts his chin, his eyes carrying out toward the field, as if another set of eyes were upon him besides hers. "What are you doin' here?"

            The sight of him, the rawness of his gaze, brought her to the brink of speechlessness. Her pulse thrummed in her ears as she opened her mouth, but the words seemed to tangle in her throat.

            Josette swallows hard after a beat, her fingers brushing against the folds of her skirt as she steps forward, closer to him, to the space they'd never dared to cross. Not yet.

            "I—" her voice faltered, and she cleared her throat, taking a step closer. "I needed to see you." she declares, her voice barely above a whisper. She wanted to say more, to pour out everything she had kept bottled up since that day, but words seemed to escape her.

            A flicker of relief passes over his face, quickly followed by something deeper, something in his eyes that made her heart gallop. He leans against the doorframe, his posture still, but his gaze never leaves hers.

            The words felt both too much and not enough, but they were the truth. She was nervous, excited, and terrified all at once. Her heart swelled at the sight of him, but in the back of her mind, the ever-present worry clawed at her. What if they find out? What will happen then?

            He steps aside, holding the door wide for her to enter, and she hesitates for only a moment before stepping across the threshold. The warmth of the cottage wraps around her like a quilted blanket, the humble interior offering a sense of peace she had never felt on the grand estate where she lived.

            "I've missed seein' you," Jack murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. He closes the door behind her, but doesn't move away. His presence seemed to fill the small space, and for a moment, the rest of the world outside ceased to exist.

            Josette's breath catches in her throat. The confession, the admission of devotion—it was still there, hanging between them like a fragile thread, as delicate and vulnerable as their love itself.

            "I've missed seeing you, too," she whispers, her words a mix of relief and sadness. The weight of their situation, the knowledge of what they are about to risk, settled heavily in her chest.

            She wanted to tell him everything—that she not only cared for him, but loved him, that she was desperate to be with him, but the fear of her family's wrath seemed to hold her back.

            Or rather, her father's wrath. Mother was still blissfully unaware of anything. It was getting worse as the days stretched.

            "We can't do this," she says, more to herself than to him. "Hiding and avoiding."

            Jack's face tightens, a flash of pain passing through his eyes, but he nods, stepping closer to her. "I know. I-I've been thinkin' about it since you left that day. But Josette, now that you've gotten a hold on my heart, I don't know how I'll be able to let go of you. How I'll be able to stay here, watch you attach yourself to someone else, like you're meant to. It's why I kept you at a distance for this long."

            Her heart flutters at his honest words, but she bites her lip, glancing away. She's aware of the dangers, the repercussions of their love. But she could see the same longing in his eyes, the same desperation that mirrored her own.

            "I don't want to let go either," she voices, her voice barely audible. "But if they find out . . . they'll—" Her words get lodged in her throat once more as she imagines the worst: her family tearing them apart, the fallout, the scandal.

            "You mean if he finds out?" Jack corrects, his voice quiet but firm. He considers the consequences himself: her father tearing them apart, then tearing him apart—limb from agonizing limb, and covering the entire scandal with his meticulous wiring.

            Josette remains tight-lipped, but her eyes find his. They settle there and transfer a wordless message; an understanding of sorts. But Jack is not entirely sure she comprehends what he means.

            He had worked for her family for many years. His eyes had beheld many circumstances that they were not meant to, and if someone were to become aware of them, his silence was an expectation. Otherwise, he'd find himself cast into a six-foot tomb, condemned to linger on the Chevalier estate for all eternity.

            "But I don't give a damn about him," His brashness surprises her, but in an exhilarating way. "I don't care about any of it, so long as I am able to have you for a little while. It would all be worth it to me."

Josette's brows furrow, wrinkling the skin between her trimmed brows. Whatever did he mean by that? A little while, as if their time were limited. It wouldn't be, if they were to escape from here as she assumed they would.

A silence settles in the air between them, heavy with the weight of their shared truth. Josette's breath trembled, and without thinking, she stepped into his arms, burying her face in his chest. The moment felt fragile, like it could shatter at any moment, but in his arms, the fear eased for just a little while.

"We'll figure it out," Jack whispers against the crown of her head, where ginger clashes with alabaster, his hand gently stroking her hair. "Somehow, but we'll figure it out."

Josette let her eyelids collide, soundlessly holding on to that promise, but in the back of her mind, the fear of being caught still lingered, as it had with him so many encounters.

She couldn't ignore it.

She couldn't ignore the reality of what they were risking, and she just couldn't quite shake the nagging voice inside her urging her to ask him to explain what his words truly meant.

She knew her father was not a good man, but was he so evil as to swipe the life of another? Especially someone who she held so dear to her pearled heart.

            She thought of Teddy, and squeezed her eyes so tight that white light vignetted the outer rim of her vision.

            Teddy.Teddy.Teddy.

            Teddy.Teddy.Teddy.

            In the end, it was never the world that broke me, but the quiet pull of a love too vast to contain. I was consumed, bit by bit, until I no longer recognized myself in the mirror, only the shadow of what you wanted me to be. I lingered, waiting for you to see me, even as I faded from view. Now, I am gone—not by any hand but your own, though you may never know.

Yours, in the quiet of the end,
Teddy Lowry

            She couldn't think of him now. She couldn't think of him ever. Teddy was gone, he'd been gone for over a year now. He'd be gone forever.

            She stood in Jack's arms, the warmth of his embrace offering a temporary comfort she wasn't entirely sure she deserved. His breath was steady, his fingers tracing gentle patterns across her skin, but her thoughts remained elsewhere against her will. Her body, here and now, with him—yet her mind was lost in the echoes of another time, another life.

            Teddy's face was still so vivid in her mind,—his rasp of a laugh, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the way his presence had filled every room. She could almost feel him beside her, could almost hear the softness of his voice as if he were whispering her name. And then, just as quickly, the memory would turn cold, the taste on her tongue suddenly sour. The suddenness of his death, the shock of it, like a cruel tidal wave that swept everything away.

            What is it with the sea?

            Her chest tightens as she tries to push the memories back. She heightens on the tips of her toes, burying her face into the crook of Jack's broad shoulder, trying to focus on his scent, on the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. She holds on a little tighter, maybe too tight, but he doesn't mind.

            He can take it, he can take anything. The pain, the strife, the good, and the bad. The ugly.

            She wills herself not to remember, not to feel the sting of loss again. But no matter how much she tries to silence it, the grief still remains—woven into the very fabric of who she had become. And as she clings to the man in front of her, part of her was still holding on to the one who had slipped away, never to return.

            She knew she no longer felt a devotion toward Teddy, but with Jack's cryptic speech, and the culmination of all things concerning her father, she couldn't help but wonder . . .

            Why did loss seem to follow her family like a plague? Why was her lineage so stricken by this ailment? This phenomena?

            And a much more dreaded wonder, how would that affect Jack? She did not believe her heart could take another bereavement.

            She thought of her brother, of his lover.

            Of Uncle Seth, and the lover he'd told them he'd lost when her and Cass were still children.

            Of her mother.

            And, lastly, herself.

            But not her father. Why was that?

            Jack's calloused hand smoothed down her back, sending a shiver down her spine. In that moment, it felt as though Jack's arms around her was the only truth she could trust.