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It was a beautiful spring day; sunny but not overpowering, with a slight breeze. Perfect weather to go out for a walk, visit a park, or tend to the garden. Who would waste an opportunity like this…?
Angela would, even if she didn’t want to.
Still in bed, she stared blindly up at the clock on the wall as it chimed 11am.
Her heavy eyelids closed, but she couldn’t go back to sleep. (Even though she really should; she hadn’t been sleeping well lately.)
Besides a slight sniffle and sluggish limbs, she wasn’t unwell. She wasn’t.
Angela opened her eyes.
She should could seek professional help— she could definitely afford it— but she didn’t want to give Henry yet another reason to fuss over her.
Angela sighed.
She needed to get up before Henry came home from work, otherwise he would worry.
Henry couldn’t constantly be worrying about her on top of everything else he did; running the city, keeping the peace, scouring the ruins…
Dragging herself out of bed and down to the kitchen, Angela forced herself to make some coffee with extra milk and sugar.
By this point, Henry was probably on his fifth cup of tea and his tenth meeting…
Still, somehow, he always found time for Angela when he returned home in the evening.
He would often send the servants away and make dinner himself. He would talk to Angela about the new developments in Monte d’Or and any progress they had made with the search effort.
Comparatively, Angela’s schedule was much less productive, but he would ask how her day had gone, nonetheless. Like he cared.
She knew she didn’t deserve Henry’s care.
Without him, she would fall apart.
Henry would pick up the pieces, gently putting her back together, just as he had done after their wedding.
Though, he would never expect Angela to return the favour. She’d never had to.
No matter what life hurled at him, Henry never seemed to back down.
How could he cope with so much, while Angela couldn’t muster up the energy to leave the house, some days?
Their relationship felt so unequal, like she was a pampered queen and he was her faithful servant.
The one thing Angela had to do was maintain the image of their happy marriage in public… but she couldn’t even do that—!
“Ow!” Angela let out a hiss as she spilled burning coffee on her hand.
She hated it. She hated herself. She hated Henry for putting her in this position, but at the same time, she could never repay him enough.
Of course she loved Henry, just not in that romantic, passionate way expected of a spouse… or even as a devoted partner.
Henry might very well be her soulmate— someone who would walk through fire to save her— but Angela wasn’t sure if she could do the same for him, as much as she’d want to.
Part of Angela wished he would leave her, and they could give up this sham of a union.
She could leave him— he would let her— but that would mean breaking their promise as well.
(“Will you wait for Master Randall with me?”)
No… she could never abandon Henry, or their mission— however little Angela contributed to it.
Carrying that burden alone would be enough to crush even Henry’s spirit.
If anything (heaven forbid) were to happen to Henry… If he got lost, injured or fatally ill…
If Angela had to hear those two terrible words again…
What would she do then? Return to her parents? Let them pass her off onto a new husband, who would be far less patient and forgiving than Henry?
Or, what if her family shunned her and she was left utterly alone in the world?
Would she wither like a flower unsuited to the desert heat? Or would she thrive in the face of adversity?
Would she keep up the search for Randall herself?
Or would she leave to start a new life, somewhere far away?
As if… Tears filled Angela’s eyes as she ran her stinging hand under the cold tap. As if she could ever aspire to be that brave (like Hershel)…
Maybe she could get a job in Monte d’Or?
Not at the Reunion Inn— she didn’t want to stifle Henry any more than she already did— but what about something to help the community?
Would the citizens even want her help, though? Angela had read the papers; she knew many of them viewed her as cold, uppity, and vain.
She imagined all the ways the people of Monte d’Or must hate her— Henry Ledore’s spoiled, selfish, useless wife.
How could she relate to anyone, with her insecurities and her secrets?
What if she took up a new hobby or reignited an old one? Puzzles, reading, scrapbooking, history, baking, swimming, horse-riding… like she used to do back in Stansbury.
As Angela wandered into the parlour, carefully clutching her coffee mug, she avoided looking at a photo of her twelve-year-old self riding a horse with Randall’s help. (Mrs. Ascot had insisted on putting the frame up…)
In the photo, Young Angela was healthy, beaming and radiant with joy. Randall, caught laughing as the horse nibbled on his red hair, was right beside her.
So much had changed, since then.
There had been happy times in Monte d’Or as well, but they seemed so distant at that moment.
Angela sank onto a sofa, gripping her mug so tightly that it might shatter.
What a sad, pathetic life she led. Except, she wasn’t leading anything at all…
She was just drifting through the days. Waiting for Randall to come back or waiting for the call that Henry had died too.
What would she do then? Then, when she truly had no one and nothing left to live for—?
“Angela, dear… Are you alright?”
“Mrs. Ascot!” Angela gasped as Randall’s mother walked into the parlour. She put her mug aside and plastered on a smile. “I’m fine— how are you?”
“A bit stiff…” Mrs. Ascot stretched out her back. She sighed. “I thought a stroll around town might help. Would you care to join me?”
Such a small request, but it nearly brought tears to Angela’s eyes.
Maybe some fresh air and a change of scenery would help.
It wouldn’t magically fix everything— Angela could feel just as morose when she got back… but it might take her mind off things, for now.
“Y-yes, please!” Angela hurried upstairs to get ready, now that she had a reason. Someone needed her.
When she came back down, Mrs. Ascot was waiting for her by the front door.
“Thank you,” Angela breathed as Mrs. Ascot linked arms with her.
Mrs. Ascot patted her on the shoulder and quipped, “You’d best keep up with me, lass!” With her square glasses and her excited grin, she looked so much like Randall.
That… elicited a chuckle from Angela. She was surprised that she could still laugh, despite everything.
As the two of them strode out the door together and Angela felt the sun’s warmth on her face, she remembered there might still be hope, after all.