Chapter 65 Poor Thing!
Byron sat in his office, his face clouded with frustration. The subordinate standing before him hesitated before calling out his name.
“Mr. Crawford…”
With a defeated wave of his hand, Byron dismissed him. “Go out.”
The subordinate, sensing the tension, quietly left the room, unsure whether to speak or remain. Byron wasn’t in the mood for conversation. His thoughts were heavy, and sleep eluded him that night.
The following morning, before dawn had even broken, Byron set off towards the cemetery. He didn’t know much about Athena’s grandmother, Romy, nor had he ever met her, but he felt compelled to pay his respects. Uncertain about what was appropriate to bring for a mourning visit, he eventually settled on a simple bunch of white carnations.
When he arrived, the cemetery keeper, noticing the unfamiliar face, approached with surprise.
“Sir, are you here to mourn for Madam Lewis?” he asked, intrigued by the handsome man who seemed out of place in such a somber setting.
“Yes,” Byron replied, nodding. “This is my first time here. Could you show me the way?”
The keeper, eager to help, smiled and nodded. It wasn’t often anyone came to visit Romy’s grave, so he was pleased to see someone else acknowledging her memory. As they walked, the keeper made casual conversation.
“Are you a student of Sir Newton or Madam Lewis?” he asked.
“No,” Byron answered briefly, then added, “I’m Athena’s friend.”
The keeper stopped in his tracks, clearly surprised. He turned to study Byron more carefully.
“Your friend?” The keeper seemed skeptical. “You’re Athena’s boyfriend, aren’t you?”
Byron hesitated but didn’t deny it. “I am.”
The keeper’s expression darkened. “Why didn’t I see you at the funeral?”
Byron wasn’t used to being questioned this way, and the accusation in the keeper’s voice caught him off guard. He had never faced this kind of reproach before, not even from his family. Yet, there was no anger in his response, just a quiet regret.
“I was busy at the time,” he explained.
The keeper, however, was not convinced. “What could have been more important than Madam Lewis’ passing?” His voice trembled with emotion. “Athena was heartbroken. It was raining, and she knelt there in front of the grave all day. She couldn’t even stand up properly afterward. She was all alone.”
The keeper’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Poor girl. She had no one.”
Byron felt a pang of guilt, his chest tightening as he tried to imagine what Athena had gone through. The image of her kneeling in the rain, devastated, was unbearable.
“No one stopped her?” he asked, his voice low.
The keeper wiped his eyes. “She wouldn’t listen to anyone. She was too stubborn. She lost her mother, her grandpa, and now her grandmother… she must have been so broken inside.”
Byron clenched his fists, feeling the weight of every word. He had failed Athena when she needed him most.
The keeper, still upset with Byron, led him toward Romy’s grave.
Byron placed the white carnations in front of the gravestone and bowed his head. His heart ached as he stood there, unsure of what to say. What words could express the regret he felt?
If Romy had known how he had treated Athena—how he had let her endure so much alone—she would have never forgiven him. He had taken everything she did for him for granted.
After a long moment of silence, Byron finally whispered, “I’m sorry.”
He promised, silently, that he would never leave her alone again. From now on, he would be there for Athena—no matter what.
Once the mourning was done, the keeper guided him to leave via another route, explaining, “We don’t return the same way through the cemetery.”
Byron followed without speaking, his mind racing with thoughts of what he had just learned.
As they walked, Byron stopped abruptly. Ahead, he saw a small grocery store. His gaze lingered on it for a moment, his mind flashing back to a picture Athena had posted on Instagram—a memory of a simpler time.
The keeper noticed his pause and walked back to Byron. “Ah, I see you’ve noticed that store,” he said. “When Athena was just a child, attending her mother’s funeral, she cried so much. Sir Newton bought her ice cream from that shop to try and comfort her.”
The words hit Byron like a punch to the stomach. The tenderness in the keeper’s voice, recalling a time when Athena had been so vulnerable and alone, made him feel even worse for not being there when she needed him most.