Chapter 6 Five Years Later: Red Dress, White Rose
# Chapter 6 — Five Years Later: Red Dress, White Rose
The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting golden patterns across the nursery floor. I sat in the rocking chair by the window, watching my five-year-old twins sleep—Ellie with her dark curls splayed across the pillow, so much like her father; and Liam, fair-haired like me, clutching his stuffed dinosaur even in sleep.
Five years. Sometimes it felt like a lifetime since the nightmare with Iris; other moments, it seemed like yesterday.
The door creaked open, and Damien appeared with two steaming mugs of coffee. "They're still asleep?" he whispered, handing me one.
"For now. Give it ten minutes before hurricane twins make landfall."
He chuckled softly, perching on the arm of my chair. "Ready for today?"
I took a deep breath. "As ready as I'll ever be."
Today marked the fifth anniversary of Iris's death. After her arrest at the beach house, medical examinations had confirmed my worst fears: she had undergone an illegal procedure attempting to extract one of my twins while I was unconscious at a routine doctor's appointment. The attempt had failed—the embryo transfer unsuccessful—but she'd maintained the pregnancy charade, her belly artificially enhanced, her desperation driving her to increasingly irrational actions.
She'd been sentenced to twenty years for attempted murder, kidnapping, and medical fraud. Three months into her sentence, guards found her unresponsive in her cell—an apparent suicide. The official report cited an overdose of pills smuggled in by a corrupt guard. But those of us who knew Iris suspected the truth was more complicated.
"You don't have to go," Damien said, his hand gentle on my shoulder. "No one would blame you."
I covered his hand with mine. "I need to. For closure, if nothing else."
Before he could respond, Ellie's eyes fluttered open, followed immediately by Liam's—the twins' uncanny synchronicity still fascinating after all these years.
"Mommy! Daddy!" they cried in unison, launching themselves from their beds and into our arms.
I caught Ellie, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair as she wrapped her small arms around my neck. Damien swung Liam up into a hug that elicited delighted giggles.
"Can we have pancakes?" Liam asked, his blue eyes—so like Damien's—wide with hope.
"With chocolate chips?" Ellie added, completing her brother's thought as they often did.
Damien pretended to consider. "I don't know... What do you think, Mommy?"
I raised an eyebrow. "Have you two been good?"
"Yes!" they chorused, then collapsed into giggles.
"Then pancakes it is," I declared, setting Ellie down. "Go wash up while Daddy and I start breakfast."
As the twins scampered off to the bathroom, Damien pulled me into his arms. "Have I told you today how much I love you?" he murmured against my hair.
"Mmm, not since about three this morning," I teased, tilting my face up for his kiss.
His lips met mine with familiar warmth. Five years of marriage had only deepened what began in crisis. Every day with Damien felt like a gift—one I never took for granted.
"I love you too," I whispered against his mouth. "Even when you let the twins convince you that chocolate chips are an essential breakfast food."
His laugh rumbled against my chest. "Guilty as charged."
After breakfast, Vivian arrived to watch the children while Damien and I headed to the cemetery. She swept in like a whirlwind, arms laden with presents despite our repeated requests not to spoil the twins.
"Aunt Vivi!" The children tackled her with enthusiasm that nearly knocked her designer sunglasses askew.
"My favorite munchkins!" she exclaimed, distributing hugs and kisses. She straightened up to greet us, her expression softening. "You sure about today?"
I nodded. "It's time."
She squeezed my arm. "Call if you need anything. And don't worry about these monsters—we have a full day planned. Arts and crafts, baking cookies, probably redecorating my apartment with glitter..."
"Thank you," Damien said, kissing his sister's cheek. "We shouldn't be long."
The drive to the cemetery was quiet, each of us lost in our own thoughts. I wore a simple black dress—nothing ostentatious. In my lap, I held a single red rose.
"You know," Damien said as we pulled through the ornate iron gates, "I used to think the Cross curse was real. That loving someone meant losing them."
I turned to study his profile, the strong jaw now relaxed where it had once been perpetually tense. "And now?"
"Now I think the only real curse was fear." He parked the car and turned to face me fully. "Fear of truly loving someone. Fear of being vulnerable. My parents, my grandparents—none of them had what we have."
"And what's that?" I asked softly.
"Truth," he said simply. "We started with lies, but we chose truth. Every day since."
The cemetery path wound through ancient oaks, dappled sunlight playing across marble monuments to New York's elite families. The Cross mausoleum stood on a small hill, imposing and cold. But we passed it, heading instead to a simpler area where a solitary headstone stood beneath a weeping cherry tree.
IRIS CROSS
1995 – 2020
"Every shadow was once light"
I knelt before the grave, placing the red rose carefully at the base of the stone. "Hello, sister," I said quietly.
Damien stood slightly behind me, a silent support.
"I still dream about you sometimes," I continued, speaking to the marble as if Iris could hear. "Not the you at the end—twisted by hate and jealousy. But the you that might have been. My sister. My twin." I traced the engraved letters of her name. "The children ask about you. They know they had an aunt who was sick and went to heaven. Someday, when they're old enough, they'll know the whole truth."
A gentle breeze rustled the cherry blossoms, sending pale pink petals drifting down around us like snow.
"I forgive you," I whispered, the words catching in my throat. "Not for your sake, but for mine. For my children. I won't let your shadow darken their lives."
I stood, wiping away a stray tear. Damien's arm slipped around my waist, steady and warm.
"Ready?" he asked.
I nodded, taking one last look at the grave. "Ready."
As we turned to leave, I noticed a figure standing at a distance, watching us. Victor Cross, distinguished in his dark suit, nodded solemnly in acknowledgment.
"Your father's here," I murmured to Damien.
"He comes every month," Damien replied. "Never mentions it, but the groundskeeper told me."
We approached Victor, who seemed to have aged a decade in the past five years. The strain of the scandal, Juliette's eventual arrest for conspiracy, and the restructuring of both family companies had taken its toll.
"Avery. Damien." He greeted us with a formal nod. "I didn't expect to see you here today."
"Five years," I said simply. "It felt important to mark it somehow."
Victor's eyes, so like Damien's, studied me with that penetrating Cross gaze. "You continue to surprise me. Most people would prefer to forget."
"Forgetting isn't healing," I replied. "The twins deserve to come from wholeness, not brokenness."
Something shifted in Victor's expression—respect, perhaps, or a deeper understanding. "How are my grandchildren?"
Damien smiled. "Brilliant, exhausting, perfect. They ask about you."
A flash of regret crossed Victor's face. "Perhaps... perhaps I could visit next weekend? If that wouldn't be an imposition."
"They'd love that," I said, genuinely meaning it. Despite everything, family remained important—the healthy parts of it, anyway.
As Victor departed with a promise to call later, Damien and I lingered, watching him go.
"That's new," Damien observed. "He's never asked to visit before."
"People can change," I said. "We did."
We walked hand in hand back toward our car, passing other mourners tending to their loved ones' graves. Life and death, side by side—the eternal cycle.
As we reached the car, Damien suddenly stopped, his attention caught by something. I followed his gaze to where a man stood partially concealed behind a large oak tree, watching us intently.
"Who's that?" I asked, unease prickling my spine.
Damien's expression hardened. "I'm not sure."
The stranger seemed to realize he'd been spotted. He turned and walked briskly away, disappearing behind the mausoleum.
"Wait here," Damien instructed, moving to follow.
"Damien, don't—"
But he was already striding across the grass. I watched anxiously as he rounded the mausoleum, then returned moments later, his expression troubled.
"He's gone," he said. "But he left this."
In his hand was a white rose, its stem crushed where it had been gripped too tightly.
"What does it mean?" I asked, though a chill of premonition had already settled in my bones.
"I don't know," Damien admitted. "But I'm calling security. We're increasing protection on the house and the children."
The drive home was tense, the peaceful closure I'd sought at the cemetery now replaced by fresh anxiety. As we pulled into our driveway, Damien reached for my hand.
"Hey," he said softly. "We've faced worse. Whatever this is, we'll handle it together."
I squeezed his fingers, drawing strength from his certainty. "Together."
The twins greeted us with exuberant hugs, their innocent joy washing away the shadows of the cemetery. As they dragged us to see the artwork they'd created with Aunt Vivian, I pushed aside my concerns, determined not to let fear intrude on our happiness.
That evening, after the children were asleep, Damien and I sat on the terrace overlooking the city lights. His arm was around my shoulders, my head resting against his chest, a glass of wine shared between us.
"Do you ever regret it?" he asked suddenly. "Saving me that night? Everything that came after?"
I looked up at him, at the face that had become my home. "Not for a second."
"Even with the danger? The pain?"
"Especially because of those things." I traced the scar on his shoulder, remnant of the bullet he'd taken for me. "They brought us here, to this life. To our children. How could I regret that?"
He kissed me then, slow and deep, a kiss that still made my heart race after all these years.
Later, I slipped away to check on the twins one last time before bed—a habit I couldn't break, no matter how secure our home. They slept peacefully, Ellie's arm flung dramatically across her pillow, Liam curled into a tight ball with his dinosaur.
As I adjusted Liam's blanket, something on the windowsill caught my eye—a small envelope I hadn't noticed before. Heart pounding, I opened it carefully.
Inside was a photograph of Iris, taken before everything went wrong. On the back, written in unfamiliar handwriting: "Her madness lives on. The curse continues."
I slipped the photo into my pocket, deciding not to tell Damien until morning. Tonight, at least, should remain unshadowed.
Returning to our bedroom, I found Damien standing by the window, staring out at the city. He turned as I entered, his smile warming me from within.
"Everything okay?" he asked.
"Perfect," I lied, pushing away the chill of foreboding. Tomorrow would be soon enough to face whatever new threat was emerging from the shadows. Tonight belonged to us—to the life and love we'd fought so hard to build.
As Damien drew me into his arms, I silently vowed to protect our family, no matter the cost. The Cross curse might not be supernatural, but its legacy of obsession and revenge had claimed too many lives already.
In the garden below our window, unseen in the darkness, a single white rose had been placed precisely in the center of our children's playground—a silent declaration of war from an enemy still hidden in the shadows.
But tonight, safe in Damien's embrace, I let myself believe in the power of our love to overcome whatever darkness still lurked in our future. After all, we'd already survived the impossible once.
We could do it again.