Then—very quietly—he spoke. “You should go.”
Charlotte did not argue. She inclined her head stiffly and left the study.
Edward remained where he was, hands braced against the edge of his desk, breath shallow and unsteady.
Outside, the house continued as though nothing had fractured.
But Edward knew better. Something had shifted.
The words would not leave him.
You are abandoning your son.
Edward remained standing long after Charlotte had gone, her footsteps fading down the corridor. The study felt airless, the fire suddenly too bright, too loud. He pressed his hands flat against the desk, shoulders bowed—not in defeat, but in something perilously close to reckoning.
He had told himself, for years, that silence was mercy. That absence was protection. That if he did not name the wound, it could not reopen.
But Julian had not forgotten.
And Edward—God help him—had never truly looked.
He closed his eyes and saw his son’s face as it had been only moments before: earnest, hopeful, so carefully brave. A child offering love in the only way he knew how—and being turned away.
Shame settled deep and heavy in Edward’s chest.
Not sharp. Not sudden.
Earned.
For the first time since Eleanor’s death, he allowed himself to see the truth plainly: Julian’s grief had grown in the shadow of his own. Where Edward had withdrawn, Julian had reached. Where Edward had closed himself, his son had waited.
Something shifted then.
Not loudly. Not all at once.
But decisively.
Edward straightened, breath steadying as resolve took shape—not to erase remembrance, but toclaim it. If the day were to be faced, it would be faced on his terms. Shaped by his hands. Held with care rather than dread.
He left the study without another word and went in search of his son.
Julian was in the small morning room, perched on the edge of a chair, shoulders hunched, fingers twisting together in his lap. Charlotte stood nearby, silent but fierce even in stillness, her posture protective without being possessive.
Edward crossed the room and knelt before Julian.
The boy startled, then hesitated—hurt warring with hope.
“I was wrong,” Edward said quietly.
Julian blinked.
“I let my fear speak where my love should have,” Edward continued. “And I am sorry.”
For a heartbeat, Julian did not move.
Then he surged forward, arms wrapping tight around Edward’s neck, clinging with the fierce abandon of a child who has been waiting far too long. Edward closed his eyes and held him just as tightly, breath hitching despite himself.
“I miss her,” Julian whispered.
