NOVGO.NET Chapter 1037 Cargo
Chapter 1037: Chapter 1037 Cargo
Ashley’s hands clenched her knees as the story unfolded.
Her mind conjured images of Lyric in battles she could scarcely imagine, dodging danger, risking everything.
She could hear Ross’s words but felt them like a weight pressing on her chest—painful and awe-inspiring at once.
"He faced enemies most people only read about in history or horror stories," Ross continued, his voice low but unwavering.
"I’ve seen men break, entire organizations crumble under pressure, but Lyric... he endured. And not for glory, not for recognition—he did it because he believed it was right. Because he believed in protecting you, protecting Daniel, even if he never got the chance to tell you everything."
The room fell silent for a long moment, filled only with the echo of Ross’s words and Ashley’s shallow, uneven breaths.
She felt a strange mixture of pride and grief, awe and sorrow.
She had always loved Lyric, but this... this other life, this hidden heroism, made her heart swell and ache at the same time.
"Thank you, Ross... thank you for telling me this," she said softly, her voice trembling despite her effort to remain composed.
She tried to smile, but it was faint and tinged with sadness, a shadow of the tears she had shed earlier. "I... I never knew this side of my husband."
Ross didn’t respond. He remained seated, silent, letting her absorb the enormity of the revelation.
He could see the way her mind was turning over each word, piecing together the man she thought she knew with the hero he truly was.
And in that silence, he carried the unspoken burden of the truth he could never reveal—that he, in some ways, was Lyric.
That Ashley would never know the full extent of the secret he had woven around her life.
Ashley’s gaze dropped to her hands, clasped tightly in her lap.
She was thoughtful, contemplative, trying to reconcile the man she loved with the dangerous, heroic figure Ross described.
She felt pride, but also fear, and a deep ache at the realization of what her husband had endured alone.
After a long pause, she finally looked up at Ross again, her eyes glistening with a mixture of gratitude and lingering sorrow.
"He... he sacrificed so much," she whispered, more to herself than to him. "And I... I never even knew."
Ashley walked back to her room, each step heavy with exhaustion and sorrow.
Even after her brief conversation with Ross, her heart felt weighed down, as though grief itself had physically anchored her to the floor.
She paused for a moment to offer him a final word of thanks, her voice soft and trembling, almost lost in the quiet corridor.
Outside, the same man who had guided her earlier stood silently, as if he had been waiting for this moment.
Without another word, Ashley continued to her room while following the man.
She got inside and slumped on the floor weakly.
"How am I going to tell this to Daniel?" she muttered to herself, her voice hoarse from days of crying and sleepless nights.
That night, sleep came fitfully, interrupted by dreams that twisted her grief into nightmarish visions of Lyric’s suffering.
Every time she closed her eyes, she could see his face—dust-covered, bloodied, yet still so undeniably him—and the memory pressed down on her chest with unbearable weight.
By morning, Ashley had steeled herself.
Daniel was seventeen now, strong enough to understand the gravity of the truth, old enough to shoulder part of the burden.
She found him in the big hall, quietly eating breakfast as if sensing the importance of the moment.
Sitting across from him, she took a deep breath and began to recount what had happened.
She spoke carefully, each word deliberate, as though choosing the right combination of words could somehow soften the pain.
"No. Tell me this isn’t true, mom!" Daniel cried and his mom consoled her by crying even more.
They shared grief, stories, and silence, each finding in the other a fragile support in the wake of devastation.
***
Just a week later, a knock at her door interrupted Ashley’s fragile routine.
Her heart leapt into her throat.
Cautiously, she rose, moving to the peephole and squinting through the glass.
"Ross..." she whispered, barely able to contain the surprise and relief that welled inside her.
"I figured you might want to have a few drinks with me," Ross said, stepping inside, holding six bottles of expensive wine.
The polished labels gleamed in the soft light, a stark contrast to the rawness of the emotions that lingered in the room.
Ashley froze for a moment, words caught in her throat, speechless at both the sight of him and the unexpected offering.
"Or I could just leave them here," Ross added with a small, knowing smile.
"You can’t find any of these drinks now that the world above has ended." He carefully placed the bottles on a nearby table, the clink of glass punctuating the silence.
He began to step back toward the door, but Ashley’s quiet voice stopped him.
"Wait... Ross. I’d... I’d love the company. Thank you."
Ross paused, turning toward her, the faintest flicker of warmth crossing his otherwise composed expression.
There was no pressure, no expectation—just a quiet understanding, the kind that only comes from shared pain and mutual respect.
Ashley took a slow, shuddering breath, trying to steady herself.
For the first time in days, the room felt a little less suffocating, a little less lonely.
Ross uncorked a bottle of wine, the subtle pop echoing softly in the quiet room, and poured it into two glasses.
The rich aroma filled the air, grounding them both, a small comfort in the lingering shadow of their grief.
They sat together, the silence stretching, but not uncomfortably.
It was a companionable silence, one that allowed Ashley to simply be present without needing to explain, without needing to act strong.
Slowly, conversation began to flow—not about the tragedies of the past weeks, but small, quiet observations: the taste of the wine, anything they could think of as long as it was happy thoughts.