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Chapter 335
Chapter 335:
She turned to face the heavy wrought-iron double doors of the Compton townhouse. The smile vanished from her face, replaced by a quiet, protective calm. She took a deep breath, steeling her nerves, and pressed the brass doorbell.
Less than ten seconds later, the door swung open.
Mrs. Lynch, the head housekeeper, stood in the foyer in her immaculate black uniform. When her eyes landed on June, the strict professional mask instantly cracked. A wave of profound relief washed over the older woman’s face.
“Madam,” Mrs. Lynch whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “Please, come in. She has been waiting for you all day p>
June stepped into the warm, softly lit foyer. The familiar scent of polished mahogany and fresh lilies filled her lungs.
She walked slowly into the massive main living room.
𝗕е p𝘢𝗋𝘵 𝗈𝖿 о𝘶r 𝗰omm𝘂𝗻𝗂𝗍y o𝗇
Old Mrs. Compton was sitting perfectly straight on a velvet antique sofa, a dark blue cashmere shawl draped across her shoulders. On the low glass coffee table before her lay a copy of the Wall Street Journal, its front page dominated by a large photograph of the catastrophic multi-car pileup and the burning wreckage on the Boston bridge.
The old woman heard the soft click of June’s heels. She slowly raised her head.
When Old Mrs. Compton saw June standing there — alive, breathing, and whole — the iron-clad composure of the Compton matriarch completely shattered.
Her pale blue eyes instantly filled with tears. Her hands, covered in age spots and heavy diamond rings, began to tremble.
“Child,” the old woman choked out, her voice breaking into a fragile, desperate sob. “Come here p>
June felt a massive lump form in her throat. She walked quickly across the Persian rug and dropped to her knees beside the sofa.
She reached out and took the old woman’s trembling hands tightly in her own.
Old Mrs. Compton freed one hand and cupped June’s pale cheek. Her thumb stroked June’s skin with a touch that was warm and almost frantic, as though she needed physical proof that June was not a ghost.
“When I saw the news alerts on my Bloomberg terminal,” the old woman whispered, tears spilling down her wrinkled cheeks, “when they said there were explosions — my heart completely stopped, June. I have been praying since yesterday morning p>
June shook her head rapidly, fighting back her own tears.
“I am okay, Grandma,” June said, her voice soft and thick with emotion. “I am right here. I am perfectly fine p>
Old Mrs. Compton could not hold back any longer. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around June’s neck, pulling her into a fierce, crushing embrace.
June buried her face in the soft cashmere of the old woman’s shawl, breathing in the familiar, comforting scent of lavender and expensive tea. It was the first time in weeks that she felt completely safe. The cold, hard shell she had built around her heart cracked, and a few hot tears soaked into the blue fabric.
They held onto each other for a long, quiet moment, finding solace in the pure, unconditional love between them.
Finally, Old Mrs. Compton pulled back. She kept her hands on June’s shoulders, her sharp eyes scanning her body for injuries.