Henry shakes his head. "I'm not hungry."
We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of everything unsaid pressing against the walls of this too-small apartment.
Henry looks at me then. Quiet. Searching. "You're coming back, right?" he asks. "Even just to say goodbye properly?"
My throat tightens. "I don't know," I admit. "But I'm here right now. That counts for something."
As we leave the apartment together, Henry's hand brushes mine. Squeezes it for a second before he drops it.
And as I lock the door— I finally understand the truth I've been circling for weeks.
I didn't walk away because I stopped loving them. I walked away because I didn't believe I could stay.
The drive back to Arthur's house is different than the frantic journey to find Henry. Slower. Quieter. Each mile bringing me closer to a decision I'm not sure I'm ready to make.
Henry dozes in the passenger seat, exhaustion finally claiming him now that the adrenaline has faded. I glance at him occasionally, at the way his face relaxes in sleep, the way he seems younger without the weight of all that awareness.
I think about him in the hallway at Dupree Technologies, explaining something to the receptionist with such enthusiasm. How his entire face lit up when I stopped to listen.
I remember how easily Henry slipped into conversation with me. How naturally he shared his thoughts, his interests, his world. Not cautious like he is with Arthur. Not reserved.
Just... himself.
I don't know when I became safe for him. I don't know why. But somehow, between all the small moments—game sessions and dinner conversations and quiet car rides—this child decided I was someone he could trust.
And then I left.
***
When we arrive, I prod Henry awake.
Walking him back to the mansion feels different than the last time I was here. Like I'm stepping into a place I don't belong anymore—but still know.
Henry drags his feet at the entry. He hugs me quickly, fiercely, like he's afraid if he lingers too long I'll disappear again.
I smooth his hair and tell him that none of this is his fault.
He nods, but I can tell he doesn't believe me.
I straighten as the door opens. Steve is standing there.
He looks tired. His tie is loose, his jacket abandoned. That alone tells me more than words would.
"You said Arthur is gone?"
Steve nods, "Business trip."
I nod, bracing myself for the follow-up that never comes.
Instead, Steve hesitates. "That fight with you was the worst mistake he's made in a long time."
I don't breathe.
Steve doesn't elaborate. He doesn't comfort or promise or soften it. He just opens the door wider so Henry can step fully inside.
He adds, "Do with it what you want."
I leave before I can say something stupid. Or hopeful. Or desperate.
