Chapter 10: Gossip and Goodbyes

8.

The second son of the Holbrook family was single again.

News traveled fast in Silver Hollow. Gossip ran through the country clubs, the Facebook moms’ groups, even the high school track team. Everybody knew Derek, and everybody had an opinion.

A group of wealthy young men threw a ‘singles party’ at a karaoke bar, drinking themselves senseless.

The bar was sticky with spilled beer and cheap perfume. Someone sang off-key in the next room, while a cluster of guys played pool, yelling over the music.

They collapsed in a row.

Half the group sprawled across the leather couches, ties loosened, shoes off. Someone snored softly, a puddle of drool gathering under his cheek.

No one knew what time it was when someone groggily pulled out their phone.

The clock read 2:43 a.m. The screen glowed, bright and accusatory in the dark.

“Damn, big news!”

The voice sliced through the haze. Heads jerked up, groggy curiosity turning to excitement.

That shout woke up a few people.

Someone spilled a drink in the process, the glass rolling under the table. Phones lit up, notifications pinging in chorus.

“Dude, the Foster guy? He’s back in Silver Hollow. Swear to God, it’s all over Twitter.”

The name carried weight—old money, old secrets, the kind of family you only whispered about.

“And he rushed back overnight on a private jet!”

The group let out a collective gasp. Even in their haze, the drama was too juicy to ignore.

Someone waved a hand, half-asleep:

“No way. Didn’t they say he’s been abroad for treatment? Haven’t seen him in ten years.”

The words hung heavy, everyone straining to remember the last Foster family sighting.

“Really, it’s trending on Twitter.”

Screens flashed, hashtags scrolling by. There it was: #FosterReturns, already climbing the ranks.

Phones were passed around.

A dozen hands reached, each desperate for a look. The crowd buzzed, everyone talking over each other.

The quiet room became lively again.

Music blared, someone cheered, and the bartender shook his head at the chaos.

“It’s really him, and he’s even holding a girl, saying he came back overnight to take her abroad.”

The photo was grainy, but the figures were clear—a tall man, serious-faced, his arm around a smaller woman in a raincoat.

“Tsk, PR didn’t even have time to react. How urgent was this?”

The question was half awe, half gossip. Everyone knew the Fosters didn’t move fast for anyone.

“Let me see, let me see.”

Phones swapped hands, screens smudged with fingerprints.

“Tsk, this girl… why does she look kind of familiar…”

Someone squinted, zooming in. There was a beat of silence.

“Derek, Derek!”

Someone pushed Derek. “Look at the girl in Luke Foster’s arms. Doesn’t she look like… your wife?”

Derek was actually already awake.

He’d never really fallen asleep—he just didn’t like the drama. But now, curiosity got the better of him.

But he didn’t like the Foster family’s fuss.

He’d always thought their secrets were overblown. But this—this was personal.

“How could it be my wife.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. The words came out sharp, defensive.

He took the phone impatiently. “Emily doesn’t even dare leave Silver Hollow, let alone go abroad…”

He scrolled, searching for proof that it was all a mistake. But the truth stared back at him.

But with just one look at the photo, he froze.

His face went pale. His hand shook, just a little.

It was pouring at the airport.

The rain came down in sheets, the runway lights casting everything in gold and silver.

Under a black umbrella, the man was tall and cold-faced.

He looked like he’d stepped out of a movie—jaw set, eyes fixed straight ahead. He held the umbrella with one hand, the girl with the other.

He shielded the girl in his arms completely.

She was huddled close, almost hidden. But Derek would know her anywhere—the slope of her shoulders, the way her hair curled at the ends.

But he knew Emily’s figure and hair color too well…

He blinked, refusing to believe it.

Impossible.

The word echoed, louder each time. He shook his head, as if that would change the facts.

Derek threw down the phone with a slap.

The device bounced across the table, landing face-down. The group fell silent.

How could Emmy know someone like Luke Foster?

The question was absurd, unthinkable. Derek’s mind raced, trying to piece together the missing months.

Tonight she even asked him to her apartment.

He remembered the text, the anticipation. He’d assumed she was waiting for him, pining.

She probably hadn’t seen him for a month, missed him to death.

The image comforted him—until now.

Derek took out a cigarette.

His hands shook as he fumbled with the lighter. The flame caught, burning too bright.

Lit it.

He inhaled deeply, the smoke filling his lungs. It did nothing to steady his nerves.

Pulled out his own phone.

He swiped through his contacts, thumb hovering over her name. The urge to call was overwhelming.

Scrolled to Emily’s number, just about to dial.

He hesitated, checking the time—3:00 a.m. The hour made everything feel more desperate, more final.

Saw the time.

He cursed under his breath, debating. But habit won out.

Three in the morning.

Forget it. At this hour, she’s sleeping.

He almost put the phone away. But the old pattern tugged at him—Emmy always answered, always came when called.

But—

No matter what time, Emmy would always answer his call.

He couldn’t help himself. The need to hear her voice was stronger than pride.

Derek lit up the phone again.

The blue glow was both hope and accusation.

Dialed.

He waited for the familiar ring, for the click of her voice on the other end.

“Sorry, the number you have dialed is not in service.”

For the first time, the silence was absolute. And this time, it belonged to her.

Derek stared at the dark screen, realizing too late—he’d finally lost the only person who ever answered.