Chapter 167: Heavy Hearts and Quiet Spaces

Harper’s POV

I sat cross-legged on the bed with my laptop balanced on my thighs, watching the latest batch of edited footage come together on the screen.

I smiled softly. It was actually coming together.

The documentary wasn’t perfect yet. There were still things I wanted to adjust myself especially the pacing in a few places, the emotional transitions, and some of the color grading. But seeing the raw footage after someone else had worked through the first round of editing made everything feel so real.

This wasn’t just a quiet dream in my head anymore. It was becoming an actual, living film.

I clicked through a few more clips, watching my mom speak so candidly about her illness, and then the footage of Emma and Noah talking about what it had been like watching her go through everything.

My smile softened, a prickle of emotion in my chest. I was so proud of this.

I opened our family group chat on my phone.

Me: Guys, I just got the first edited version back.

I attached a few short video clips to the message.

Me: It’s not final yet! I still have some editing to do myself, but look!

Almost immediately, Emma’s name popped up.

Emma: WAIT.

Then:

Emma: This looks so good! Harper!

Noah came in right after her.

Noah: Okay, filmmaker.

I laughed out loud.

Me: Don’t get too excited. I’m still changing a lot of things.

Noah: Too late. I’m already printing your Oscar speech.

I shook my head, smiling warmly as I replayed another emotional clip on the screen.

Then I heard the heavy clatter of the front door opening down the hall.

My fingers froze over the keyboard. A second later, the door clicked closed with a firm latch.

My heart did a little jump. Justin.

I immediately pushed the laptop aside onto the duvet. "Hey, babe!" I called out. "I’m in here. Come in!"

A few seconds later, the bedroom door swung open.

Justin stepped inside.

The smile completely vanished from my face.

Something was very wrong.

He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t teasing me about being in bed all day. He wasn’t even wearing that relaxed, gentle expression he’d had when he’d come home earlier. He just looked... completely drained.

And distant.

I immediately sat up straight, the joyful energy draining from the room. "Hey, babe."

He lifted his eyes to mine, his voice quiet and heavy. "Hey."

I studied every line of his face, my chest tightening. "What happened?"

He shook his head, holding a thick, overwhelming stack of files in his arms. "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"I’m fine, Harper."

I didn’t believe him for a single second.

I closed my laptop and set it down on the nightstand beside me. "I woke up and you were gone. I thought you were supposed to wake me up so I could come with you."

"I was." He walked over to the dresser and dropped his car keys onto the wood with a loud clatter. "But you were sleeping so peacefully. I didn’t want to disturb you."

"Oh."

I swung my legs off the bed and walked over to him. "Where did you go, Justin?"

"I went to see my dad."

My steps slowed. "Your dad?"

He gave a tight nod. "And my grandfather."

I stared up into his dark, troubled eyes, searching for answers. "How did that go?"

His jaw tightened, a shadow falling over his face. "Obviously, it didn’t go well."

I gave him a soft, understanding look. "Because he’s your dad?"

"Exactly."

There was a mountain of pain, history, and unspoken anger buried behind those two simple words.

I didn’t push. I didn’t press him for details he wasn’t ready to give. Instead, I closed the small distance between us, reached out, and wrapped my arms tightly around his waist.

Justin immediately pulled me close, burying his face into the side of my neck as his arms locked around me like a lifeline.

I held him as tightly as I could, resting my cheek against his chest, hearing his heavy heart beating against my ear. "It’s okay," I whispered softly. "It’s okay."

He rested his chin against the top of my head, breathing me in. For a few long, quiet seconds, neither of us said a word. The heavy silence in the room spoke for both of us.

Then I gently pulled back just enough to look up at his face. "So you came back with some stuff?"

He nodded slowly. "Yeah."

"Did you get anything useful from them?"

"I did." He reached down, his hand resting on the thick, ominous folder he’d set on the edge of the dresser. "Some documents."

"What kind?"

"Things about the trial. Things I need to go through." His eyes dropped to the heavy file, dark and unreadable. "I just need some time to read through everything."

I nodded, swallowing down my own rising worry. "Okay."

He looked back at me, his gaze full of appreciation and quiet exhaustion. "Let me go through this first, okay? Just keep doing what you’re doing." He gestured vaguely toward my laptop on the bed. "I’ll take it into the side room."

I watched him reach down and pick up the heavy folder again.

"Justin."

He stopped, turning back to me.

"What really happened?" I asked softly.

I could see the immediate hesitation flickering in his eyes the instinct to protect me, or maybe just protect himself from saying out loud what was written on those pages. Whatever he’d heard from his father or learned from his grandfather, he wasn’t ready to speak it into existence yet.

I softened my tone completely, stepping closer to touch his arm. "You don’t have to tell me right now. I just want to know you’re okay."

"I am," he murmured.

He leaned forward, pressing a lingering, soft kiss to my forehead. "I promise, babe."

Then he turned and walked out of the bedroom, carrying the weight of those documents into the quiet study.

I stood there alone in the middle of the room for a long moment, watching the doorway where he had disappeared.

Every single protective instinct in me wanted to follow him right down the hall. I wanted to sit beside him on the desk, pull those papers into my own hands, and ask every terrifying question currently running through my head.

What did his father say to him? What had his grandfather given him? What horrible secrets had he just uncovered about his mother’s death? What was sitting inside that thick folder?

But I forced my feet to stay planted.

He had asked me for time. And I knew Justin well enough to know that when he was ready to process it, he would open up to me. I couldn’t force it out of him when he was already carrying so much.

I walked slowly back to the bed, picked up my laptop, and reopened the documentary timeline.

I tried to focus. I really, truly tried. But as the clips played on the screen, my mind kept drifting back down the quiet hallway.

What’s happening in there? What did Justin see? What did Richard tell him?

I stared blindly at the moving images on my screen without actually processing a single frame or word.

I let out a long, heavy sigh. "When he’s ready, he’ll tell me," I murmured to the empty room, trying to reassure myself.

I adjusted my position against the pillows. "I can’t force him."

I glanced toward the closed bedroom door one more time, my chest aching for him. "He’ll tell me when he’s ready."

For now, the best thing I could do was give him the quiet space he’d asked for.

I turned back to my laptop and forced myself to cut a couple of scenes. But after about twenty minutes of restless work, my stomach let out a loud, traitorous growl.

I paused, blinking at the screen, then checked the clock on my phone.

Well... there was no point pretending I wasn’t starving.

I closed the laptop and set it aside. "I can think about all of this later."

I stood up, stretching my arms above my head. "I’m hungry."

I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and headed out of the bedroom toward the kitchen. "Let me go make something good for Justin and me to eat."