Her gaze snapped to his.
He swallowed once, surprised by the force of his own certainty. “No. You have not crossed a line.”
Hazel’s brows knitted softly. There was such earnestness in her eyes that he found he could not look away. He drew in a slow breath.
“She was… not always like this,” he began. His voice felt heavy, as though the air itself thickened around the words. “My mother used to laugh. She loved dancing. And she adored my brother.” He paused, swallowing. “We all did.”
Hazel said nothing. She only listened, utterly still. So, he continued.
“It began with my brother’s courtship. He fell in love with a young woman… but their families did not suit. Her father married her to another man. Wealthier and older, which was, as you can imagine, a more advantageous match.”
Hazel’s eyes softened with sorrow. Greyson looked down at his plate, though he saw nothing.
“My brother could not accept it. He wrote letters—pleaded, begged for a way to have her. There was none.” His voice tightened. “One night, he went riding near the river. He never returned.”
Hazel’s breath hitched.
Greyson forced himself to continue. “They said it was an accident. His horse slipped.” He shook his head. “But we found a letter in his coat. The last one he ever wrote. It was a farewell.”
He exhaled slowly, feeling as though his breath were made of cut glass.
“And your mother…” she whispered.
“My mother,” he said hoarsely, “never returned from that night either. At least not fully. She blamed herself. She blamed the world. And she blamed love.” His hand curled against the table. “She faded, quietly and completely, until she was… what you saw, what she has been for years.”
Hazel pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes shimmering with sympathy, she tried valiantly to control.
“The grief hollowed her. And my father… he grew harsh. He could not forgive my brother for what he did. I could not forgive him for how he treated her afterward.” His jaw tightened. “So, I tried to be the son she needed, steady and reliable, never foolish enough to fall apart over someone.”
Hazel remained silent for a long moment after he finished speaking. He wondered if the weight of it was too much for her. Then she stood. Greyson’s breath stilled as she rounded the table. She did not hesitate. She came directly to him and sat in the empty chair at his side. Before he could question it, she reached for his hand. Her fingers slipped into his with a warmth so startling and so gentle that he nearly forgot how to breathe.
“Greyson…” Her voice was soft, and yet it seemed to strike straight through the hardened walls he’d carried all his life. “Your mother loves you with all her heart. I am certain of it.”
Greyson’s throat tightened. The very idea of his mother, proud of him, loving him despite everything, was almost too much to bear. He let out a faint, humorless breath that might have been a laugh.
“I wish it were so,” he murmured.
Hazel squeezed his hand.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
Hazel blinked. “For what?”
“For today.” He paused. “For being there.”
Hazel’s lips parted, and he could see surprise flickering across her face. She seemed… unprepared for gratitude, as though it had seldom been offered.
“I… it was nothing, truly.”
“It was not nothing.”
She flushed, dropping her gaze to where their hands were joined. She made a small, awkward attempt to pull back, but he tightened his fingers instinctively, refusing to let her retreat.
“You cared for her,” Greyson continued. “You showed her kindness. You brought her peace, even for a moment.” He swallowed. “You gave my mother more today than anyone has in years.”
Hazel swallowed too, visibly unsettled. She looked almost… lost, as though she did not know where to place his gratitude.
“You deserve to be thanked,” he said gently. “You deserve to be appreciated.”
