I don’t know what’s possible.
But I’m not done.
I send them before I can second-guess myself. Before the practical voice in my head can catalog all the reasons this is futile and possibly destructive. Before I can retreat back into the safety of calculated decisions and managed outcomes.
My phone rings almost immediately. Tessa.
"Seamus," she says, and there's something in her voice I haven't heard before. Not the careful professional neutrality, but actual warmth. "I'm glad you reached out."
"I placed two of my executives on administrative leave this morning," I tell her. "I'm probably going to face a no-confidence vote from the board. The Heritage Street acquisition is already finalized. Rosanna won't answer my calls or read my emails. I don't know how to fix any of this."
"Okay," Tessa says simply. "Then let's figure out where to start. The marriage first, or the building?"
And I realize that for the first time in months, I'm not trying to keep those things separate. Not trying to manage my personal life in one box and my professional responsibilities in another. Not choosing between being a CEO and being a husband, between protecting the company and protecting what matters.
“I don’t know what I’m asking for,” I admit. “I just know I don’t want to walk away because it’s easier.”
"That's going to be hard," Tessa warns. "The building situation is complicated legally. The marriage situation is complicated emotionally. You're going to have to trust that doing the right thing is worth it even if it doesn't get you the outcome you want."
"I know." And I do know. I'm terrified of all of it—of the vulnerability, of the risk, of the very real possibility that I'll do everything right and still lose Rosanna because I damaged her trust too thoroughly to repair.
But I'm more terrified of the alternative.
Of spending the rest of my life knowing I had a chance to fight for something real and I chose safety instead.
Of becoming my father—successful and lonely and convinced that sacrifice equals strength.
“If there’s a way forward,” I say, “I need to be the kind of man who can take it.”
There's a pause, and then Tessa laughs softly. "Now that's what I've been waiting to hear."
It might be too late.
She might never come back.
The building might still fall.
The board might remove me.
But I’m done choosing safety.
I choose honesty.
Chapter thirty-seven
Rosanna
I'm supposed to be working on Chapter Nine of Mira's story, but instead I'm sitting on Luna's couch.
My apartment is too quiet, and Luna insisted I come over.
My laptop is open to my email archives, and I'm scrolling through years of correspondence with Shay.
Looking for proof that I was right to leave.
But that's not what I'm finding.
I pull up an email from two years ago, long before ERS or marriage contracts or any of this complicated mess.
