“And you?” he asked. “Did you ever demand more?”
Rachel laughed softly. “What would have been the point?”
“I imagine you would have found one.”
Rachel met his eyes then, something shifting in her chest at the certainty in his voice. For a man who so often kept himself closed off, his words had a way of unraveling things she had long since tucked away.
“I learned young that wanting something does not mean you will have it.”
“And what is it you wanted?”
Rachel hesitated.To belong. To be cherished. To be something more than a reminder of a mistake.
She did not say any of these things. Instead, she smiled faintly, shaking her head.
“It hardly matters now.”
Simon’s expression darkened slightly, as though he disagreed, but he chose not to argue with her. “And your sister?”
Rachel’s heart softened at the mention of Marina. “Marina is… the best of us,” she admitted. “She still sees the world with hope. I think she wants to believe that if she is kind enough, patient enough, she will be rewarded for it.”
“And do you believe that?”
Rachel’s lips pressed together in thought. She had not anticipated being interviewed like this.
“I believe that kindness is not always repaid. That patience is not always rewarded,” she said finally after putting much thought into it, “but I hope she proves me wrong.”
For a long moment, Simon said nothing. Then, in a voice quieter than before, he murmured, “So do I.”
The words lingered between them, and Rachel exhaled slowly, looking away first. She had revealed more than she intended, let him see too much.
“I didn’t expect you to care about any of this,” she admitted.
“You assume I do not care about many things.” Simon’s gaze flickered to her.
“You make it rather easy to assume,” Rachel hesitated.
“I have learned that caring too much is a weakness,” he said finally.
“It isnot,” Rachel frowned. “It is the exact opposite of a weakness. In fact, it can be a strength.”
“It can be used against you,” His fingers drummed against the armrest.
Rachel studied him. It was not a thought that had never crossed her mind, but she had never heard it spoken so plainly.
“But,” she said, her voice softer now, “you seem to care for your aunt still.”
“She is all I have left,” Simon’s jaw tensed, and his tone was bitter.
Rachel swallowed. There was something tragic in the way he said it, something so final it made her chest ache.
“Grief is not a weakness,” she murmured.
“You sound certain of that.” Simon’s eyes flickered toward her, sharp and assessing. “In fact, you sound quite certain of things that you have not experienced very often.”
“I have experienced plenty of grief.” Rachel sat up a little straighter, meeting his gaze. “It means that something oncemattered. That someone mattered to you. There is no shame in that.”
Simon exhaled, but he did not argue. Rachel hesitated, then reached forward, her fingers brushing lightly over his wrist.
