<b>Chapter </b><b>155 </b>


    -HUNTER’S POV-


    The room has a faint but clear smell of her perfume. The bed is neatly made, and her books are lined up in straight rows.


    Christmas lights twinkle around photographs covering one entire wall–her life in snapshots, from gap–toothed baby to glowing young


    woman.


    And there, in the center of it all, is us.


    Our first date photo.


    She had insisted on ice skating instead of dinner at some stuffy restaurant,ughing as she staggered on the rink while I tried desperately not


    to fall.


    We look so young, so hopeful. Sopletely


    naware of how badly we would destroy each other.


    My fingers trace the edge of the frame before moving to her bookshelf. Her favorite novel sits exactly where it always did, pages soft from countless readings.


    I open it carefully, finding her margin notes in different colored inks–a rainbow <i>of </i>thoughts and feelings spanning our entire rtionship.


    One note, dated a year after we went public, makes my heart stop:


    “Sometimes I wonder if he sees me or just the idea of me. If he loves Sophia or loves having someone who loves him unconditionally. <b>I’m </b>scared I’m not enough for his world, but I’m more scared of a world without him in it.”


    The book falls from my hands.


    “Sophia,” I whisper to the empty room. “How are you doing?”


    For a moment–just a moment–I can almost see her. Sitting on the bed with her legs tucked under her, hair falling in her face as she reads.


    She looks up at me with those impossibly blue eyes and smiles.


    “Better now that you’re here.”


    “I met someone,” I tell her ghost. “Her name is Celine. She’s… she’s stubborn. Strong. She looks at me like I’m something worth loving instead of something broken.”


    “Do you love her?”


    “Yes. And I’m terrified I’ll ruin it like I ruined us.”


    “You didn’t ruin us, Hunter. We ruined ourselves/Both of us, together.”


    “I should have fought harder. Should have made you feel safe instead of making you feel small.”


    “And I should have trusted you instead of running <i>scare </i>


    I sink onto the bed, devastated by memories and regrets and the weight of carrying someone else’s ghost <b>for </b><b>three </b>years.


    “I’m going to be a father again,” I whisper.


    TOLUJ TITO AUy


    Chapter <b>155 </b>


    <b>“</b><b>There’s </b>Caesar….he’s three, and he calls me Papa. And there’s a babying. I’m scared, Sophia. What if I’m not <b>enought </b>what if my lo isn’t enough to protect them?”


    <b>“</b>Then you fight anyway. You fight because they’re worth it. Because love is always worth fighting for, even when it’s scary?”


    The vision fades, leaving me alone with her jewelry box. Inside, exactly where I knew they would be, are the engagement <b>ring </b>and ne I gave her.


    The symbols of promises I couldn’t keep.


    “I’m sorry,” I say to the silence. “I’m sorry I never tried to understand your pain. I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t <b>enough </b><b>when </b><b>you </b>were everything.”


    I close the box gently, sealing away another piece of my past, and walk back to the living room where a different kind of healing waits.


    Dinner with the Greysons is exactly what I remembered–warm, chaotic, full of the kind of love that doesn’t demand anything in <b>return</b>.


    Mr. Greyson regales me with stories from his job at the postal service while Mrs. Greyson fusses over everyone’s tes.


    Arie sits quietly, watching me with curious eyes that hold too much understanding for someone so young.


    “Is there someone special in your life?” Mrs. Greyson asks as we finish dessert.


    The question catches me off guard.


    I look around the table at these people who loved Sophia, who have every reason to hate me, and find only genuine curiosity and hope in


    their faces.


    “I’m a father,” I say finally. “To two children, actually.”


    Mrs. Greyson’s face lights up. “How wonderful! She must be a lovely girl.”


    I think about Celine–her fierce protectiveness, her quiet strength, the way she makes everything better just by existing.


    “She is. You would love her.”


    “Bring her next time,” Mrs. Greyson insists. “We’d love to meet her.”


    “I will.” And I mean it.


    Standing at the front door an hourter, saying goodbye, I feel lighter than I have in years. Mrs. Greyson hugs me tight, pressing a kiss to my


    cheek.


    “Sophia would be proud of you,” she whispers, tears in her eyes. “She’s at peace now, Hunter. She would want you to be happy.”


    Mr. Greyson pulls his wife inside with gentle scolding about being a “crybaby,” leaving me alone with Arie on the doorstep.


    We don’t speak for a moment, just stand there in the London twilight with three years of unspoken words between us.


    “If you ever need anything,” I tell her, handing over my business card, “don’t hesitate to call.”


    She takes it, studying my face with those too–knowing eyes. “She really loved you, you know<b>.</b><b>” </b>


    <b>I </b>nod, not trusting my voice.


    <i>“</i>And she would want <i>you </i>to be happy now.” Arie reaches into her pocket and pulls out an envelope, pressing it into my <b>hands</b>.


    ?? <fn7350> The source of th?s content is find?novel</fn7350>


    “She wrote this for you. Before… before everything fell apart. I found it in her things, but was too tear to send


    The paper feels fragile in my hands, like it might crumble at the slightest touch.


    “Thank you.”


    She disappears inside, leaving me alone with Robert and a letter from the dead.


    Later, in my London penthouse, I sit on the leather sofa with a ss of scotch and stare at the envelope.


    My name is written in Sophia’s careful script, each letter formed with the uracy she brought to everything.


    The date in the corner makes my breath catch: three years ago. My birthday. The business trip I chose over celebrating with her


    One of the first cracks in our foundation.


    My hands shake as I tear it open.


    ‘My Dearest Hunter,‘


    ‘It’s your birthday, and you’re three thousand miles away closing some deal that couldn’t wait another day. I know I should be angry, but instead I’m sitting in our empty apartment writing you a letter I will probably never send.‘


    ‘I’ve been thinking about ustely. About the woman I was when we met and the woman I’m bing now.”


    ‘I used to be brave, remember? I used to speak up for myself, dream big dreams, believe I could conquer the world.”


    ‘Somewhere along the way, I got small.


    Your mother’s disapproval, the whispers at corporate events, the constant feeling that I’m not smart enough, glossed enough, good enough for your world–it all chipped away at me until I barely recognize myself.”


    ‘But that’s not your fault, <i>my </i>love. It’s mine, for forgetting that you chose me. For letting other people’s opinions matter more than your love.” ‘I know I’ve been distanttely<i>. </i>Distracted. You probably think I’m pulling away because I don’t love you anymore, but it’s the opposite.


    I love you so much it terrifies me. Because loving you means risking everything, and I’m not sure I’m brave enough for that kind of risk.


    ‘I watch you build empires andmand boardrooms, and sometimes I wonder what you see in the girl who still gets nervous ordering at fancy restaurants.


    But then you smile at me….really smile, not your corporate smile–and I remember.‘


    “You see me. The reat me. And somehow, miraculously, you love her.’


    ‘I want to be worthy of that love, Hunter, I want to stand beside you without feeling like I’m constantly catching up I want to be your partner, not your project.’


    ‘So I’m going to try <i>to </i>be braver. Starting now. Starting with this letter that I’m actually going to give you when you get home.”


    ‘Happy birthday, <i>my </i>love. Thank <i>you </i><i>for </i>seeing something in me worth fighting for. I promise I’ll try to see it too.”


    ‘I love you, Hunter. Always and forever


    <b>13:05 </b><b>Fri</b><b>, </b>8 <b>Aug </b>


    ‘Yours<b>,</b><b>‘ </b>


    ‘Sophia‘


    The letter falls from my numb fingers.


    She was trying. In the end, despite everything, she was trying to find her way back to us. Back to the brave girl I fell in love with.


    If only I had been home for that birthday. If only I had read this letter when it mattered.


    If only we had learned to fight for each other instead of against each other.


    I drain my scotch and reach for my phone, scrolling to Celine’s contact. It’ste in New York, but I need to hear her voice. Need to know she’s safe and happy and not slipping away like sand through my fingers.


    “Hunter?” Her sleepy voice fills me with warmth. “Is everything okay?”


    “Everything’s fine,” I lie smoothly. “I just wanted to hear your voice before you went to sleep.”


    “Mmm. How was your day?”


    I think about <i>the </i>meeting I barely paid attention to, the confrontation with my past, the letter that feels like a knife in my chest.


    “Different,” I say finally. “But good. How are you feeling? Any morning sickness?”


    <i>“</i><i>A </i>little. Caesar was being extra helpful today–he brought me crackers in bed.” Sheughs softly, and the sound heals something inside me.


    “He’s going to be such a good big brother.”


    ‘Caesar. Our son. Our family.‘


    “I love you,” I say suddenly, desperately. “You know that, right? You know I’m not going anywhere?”


    There’s a pause, and I can almost see her frowning in the darkness of our bedroom.


    “Hunter? <i>Are </i>you sure you’re okay?<i>” </i>


    “Just missing you. Missing home.”


    “We miss you too. Come back to us soon?”


    “As soon as I can. I promise.”


    After we hang up, I sit in the silence of my London apartment and make another promise–this one to Sophia’s memory and to the <i>future </i>I’m building with Celine.


    I won’t make the same mistakes twice.


    <i>This </i>time, I will fight.


    <b>13:05 </b><b>Fri</b><b>, </b><b>8 </b><b>Aug </b>