Yours, Eternally

Eight

"Are you sure that you're okay?" Martha asked in concern as she gestured to my hand, apologizing profusely while leading me up the staircase and towards the same room that she had shown me yesterday. Martha's attention has never left the site of my injury ever since she knew the origin of how I had gotten it.

"I'm fine. Besides, it's just a small scratch." I assured, wiggling my fingers in the air in hopes that she would stop mouthing the word 'sorry.'

"Alright. But if it is painful, please make sure to inform me." She pressed as we finally stood in front of the door. I gave a soft smile and nod before knocking on the door.

"And a word of advice," Martha sounded, "be a little gentle with him today."

"I understand."

As soon as she disappeared, I entered the room engulfing myself in the same atmosphere, an aura of melancholy and grim. Just like yesterday, I approached Mr. Montague who was seated on the floor with a beer bottle in his hand while he had his other, clasping the picture frame.

"I see you're here again." He turned to look at me while taking a swig from the contents within the glass. Soon, I felt his gaze concentrate on the bandaged area.

"Did I do that?" He asked, taking another mouthful of liquid. Contemplating my answer, I decided to go with telling the truth. After all, honesty is indeed the best policy.

"Yes," I responded, "but I'm okay," I quickly added, hoping that he would not blame himself for the accident.

"I'm sorry." He muttered under his breath.

"It's not your fault. I did touch your personal things without permission." A scoff was heard from him as he dropped the emptied bottle on the floor right in front of him.

"What happened to her?" I questioned, cutting the silence that was densely accumulating in the air. The man that I saw in the picture, one that once shone with radiance, was now reduced to a solemn and broken individual. His unshaven look and ruffled hair seemed to intensify the great affliction he was going through.

Whoever she was, he must have loved her tremendously.

"Please leave me alone." He croaked, filled with agony and despair.

Knowing that this conversation was at its end, I complied, strolling towards the door before taking one last look at Mr. Montague where the sound of sniffles and soft wailing could be heard before closing the door.

"Will he be alright?" I inquired as Martha gestured, inviting me to have a seat as I looked over at the biscuits and tea she had prepared; neatly arranged on the coffee table.

"I'm afraid not, dear." She answered, shaking her head with a huge sigh. "Hugo hasn't been himself ever since Blaire."

So that was her name. Blaire.

My interest was piqued as I felt an unusual hunger to know more.

"If it's possible," placing the cup down after taking a sip of refreshment, I glanced over to Martha who had her head hung low in despair. "May I know what happened between the two?"

"It's not a pretty story, dear," she continued, letting out a heavy breath before coming to a pause, hesitant of revealing anything more. But upon acknowledging the curiosity in my eyes, Martha relented.

"The two met when they were just twenty-five. Hugo was a late starter in building his career while Blaire already had a name for herself. Of course, with Blaire being far more experienced in this industry, she showed him the ropes and became his mentor. As they undertook many projects as a pair, feelings soon deepened and love eventually blossomed. But with Hugo still focused on his career, Blaire decided to make the tough decision any woman loathe at the expense of her youth. She decided to postpone their marriage. Blaire began supporting him on the sidelines until his career peaked 4 years later. But during that search for fame and wealth, Hugo became cold and distant. He became someone who was so absorbed in his work rather than the one who had been there by his side. And I remember, that every time I looked into those eyes of hers, she could never hide the sadness that she so desperately tried to conceal with a smile."