"The headaches." His body language turned drastically rigid. "She told me something was wrong. I handed her aspirin and told her to take a bath." His voice went flat. "The day it happened, she called four times. I was in a board meeting. By the time I got home..."
"Nathaniel."
"She was on the floor. The pain…" He stopped, swallowed. "I've never seen anything like it. We didn't make it in time. The aneurysm had ruptured. She was gone before we could reach the hospital."
The guilt was a palpable presence, sitting between us. I understood it, that desperate need to assign blame, even to yourself, because chaos is too terrifying to accept.
"You couldn't have known," I said.
"Couldn't I?" His eyes met mine. "I should have paid attention. I should have been there. Millie needed her parents, but I let work consume me until it was too late."
"Do you think the guilt ever goes away?"
He considered the question. "No. But it changes shape. Some days it's sharp. Other days it's just... there. Background noise."
"That's not exactly comforting."
"I'm not very good at comforting." A ghost of a smile. "In case you hadn't noticed."
"I've noticed." I took a sip of wine, gathering courage. "I understand it, though. The guilt. Needing a reason, even if it's a terrible one."
"Your mother?"
I nodded slowly. "I spent years thinking if I could just be perfect enough: good grades, clean house, never any trouble, I could earn back what she took when she left. If I were enough, she'd have to stay. But she died before I could prove anything." The words came out steadier than I expected. "So I'll never know... That's the worst part, I think. Not knowing."
We sat in that shared understanding, two people who'd learned too young that love could be conditional, that the people you needed most could disappear without warning.
Somewhere during the conversation, the distance between us had shrunk. I was leaning forward over the granite, close enough to see the gold flecks in his gray-blue eyes, the lines of fatigue at their corners. Close enough to smell his cologne, it was woodsy, clean, mixed with wine.
"Claire." His voice was rough.
"Yeah?"
"I'm glad you didn't take the reward money that night."
I blinked. "Why?"
"Because then you'd have had a reason to stay. Obligation. Debt." His gaze held mine. "This way, every day you come back, it's a choice. You're choosing to be here."
"I'm here for Millie."
"I know." A pause. "But I'm glad you're here."
The air grew thick. His gaze dropped to my hand, resting near my wine glass. Slowly, giving me every chance to pull away, he reached out.
His thumb brushed across my knuckles. Barely there. A question. A test.
The touch jolted through me like electricity, burning up my arm, coiling in my chest. My breath caught somewhere between my lungs and my throat.
This is it. The precipice. This is exactly what Victoria's waiting for.
I snatched my hand back and stood so abruptly my stool scraped against the tile.
"It's late." My voice came out too bright. "I should go."
Understanding crossed his face, followed by something that looked like regret. He didn't try to stop me. "Of course. I'll walk you out."
"No, that's okay. I know the way."
