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Blaire: I’ve been thinking about you and your family. I hope your dad is okay. You don’t need to call right now. Just let me know when you can. I’m here.

I read it twice before sending it.

Then I wait.

An hour passes without an answer. I change into pajamas, wash my face and leave the phone on the bathroom counter where I can still hear it. When I come back into the bedroom, the screen is lit.

Ross.

My stomach tightens as I pick it up.

Ross: He’s gone. I’ll call you when I can.

I stare at the words until they blur.

Charles is dead.

I sit on the edge of the bed and read the message again, then once more, as though the meaning might somehow change if I keep looking at it.

It doesn’t.

I type slowly.

Blaire: I’m so sorry, Ross. I’m thinking of you, Sebastian and your mother. I’m here whenever you need me.

I send it.

No answer comes.

I don’t expect one.

Whatever is happening inside that hospital tonight belongs to Ross and his family, and the only thing I can give him right now is the space to survive it.

***

The next few days pass quietly. Ross doesn’t call. Once, he sends a brief message thanking me for checking in and telling me he’ll reach out when things calm down, but there’s nothing beyond that. I don’t push. I know enough to understand that grief has its own rhythm, and whatever space he needs right now belongs to him.

I keep moving through the practical parts of my own week instead. The corporate apartment is slowly turning back into a temporary place. Clothes disappear into suitcases, books and papers are sorted into neat stacks, and I work through the last administrative emails connected to my return to the States. None of it requires much thought, which is probably why I’m grateful for it.

On the fourth morning, Charles Kensington’s death becomes public. The announcement appears first through the family office and then spreads almost immediately through the financial press. Within an hour, there are photographs of Charles everywhere, accompanied by headlines about Kensington Holdings, his decades in business and the suddenness of his death.

I’m standing in the kitchen reading one of the statements when my phone rings.

For one foolish second, I think it might be Ross.

It’s Amelia.

I answer. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she says quietly.

“I wanted to check on you.”

“I’m okay.”

There’s a short pause before Amelia says, “I’m sure you’ve seen the announcement.”

“Yes.”