“I cared about her.”
The answer felt careful.
Truthful.
But incomplete.
“Damon.”
“I know.”
His voice softened.
“I know what you’re asking.”
My heartbeat quickened.
“Then answer.”
Several seconds passed.
When he finally spoke, his voice carried something I had never heard before.
Fear.
“I can’t answer that over the phone.”
The response irritated me instantly.
“Why not?”
“Because if your letter says what I think it says…”
He stopped.
The unfinished sentence hung between us.
Then he said quietly:
“…everything may be different now.”
An hour later, I stood outside a brownstone overlooking the harbor.
The building looked elegant but understated.
Not flashy.
Not designed to impress strangers.
The front door opened before I reached it.
A gray-haired man in a suit greeted me warmly.
“Miss Harper.”
I blinked.
“You know who I am?”
He smiled.
“Of course.”
Before I could ask another question, he stepped aside.
“Damon is waiting.”
The interior surprised me.
For someone as powerful as Damon Cross, I expected extravagance.
Instead, the house felt lived in.
Bookshelves lined the walls.
Family photographs sat on tables.
A piano occupied one corner of the room.
Nothing felt staged.
Nothing felt cold.
The gray-haired man led me toward a study.
Then quietly disappeared.
I stood alone in the doorway.
Damon looked up from behind a desk.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he noticed the letter in my hand.
His expression changed instantly.
“I see.”
I stepped inside.
“Did you?”
The question emerged sharper than intended.
His eyes met mine.
“Did I what?”
“Know.”
One word.
A thousand emotions behind it.
The room became very quiet.
Damon stood slowly.
“No.”
I searched his face.
Every line.
Every expression.
Looking for deception.
I found none.
“If what the letter says is true…”
His voice lowered.
“I never knew.”
The honesty struck harder than any dramatic denial could have.
He looked stunned.
Not defensive.
Not calculating.
Simply stunned.
As though he was processing the possibility at the same time I was.
I sat down.
Suddenly exhausted.
Damon remained standing.
Then, unexpectedly, he walked toward a bookshelf.
He removed an old photograph.
Without speaking, he handed it to me.
I looked down.
A young woman smiled back from the picture.
My mother.
Twenty years younger.
Healthy.
Happy.
Standing beside a younger Damon.
My breath caught.
The photograph looked natural.
Comfortable.
The kind of picture people take when they know each other well.
Very well.
I looked up slowly.
“You kept this?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His answer came immediately.
“Because she mattered.”
The simplicity of the response hit me harder than elaborate explanations ever could.
He returned to his chair.
For several moments, neither of us spoke.
Finally, I asked the question that had haunted me since reading the letter.
“What happened between you?”
Damon stared out the window.
Toward the dark harbor beyond.
The answer seemed difficult.
Not because he wanted to hide it.
Because he was choosing how to tell it.
“When I met your mother, I was twenty-six.”
His voice carried a distant quality.
A man remembering another life.
“She worked at a university library.”
I smiled faintly.
That sounded exactly right.
“She was smarter than anyone I knew.”
The affection in his voice was impossible to miss.
“She challenged me constantly.”
His mouth twitched slightly.
“Which was unusual.”
“I can imagine.”
That earned an actual smile.
Brief but genuine.
Then it faded.
“We were close.”
The understatement hung heavily in the room.
“What happened?”
The question lingered.
Damon looked down.
For the first time since I’d known him, he seemed uncertain.
“You ever make a decision that feels right in the moment…”
His eyes lifted.
“…and spend years wondering if it was actually the worst mistake of your life?”
