The accusation hit me harder than I'd expected. I opened my mouth to respond, but my words caught in my throat. The truth was too complicated to unpack in a single moment, too heavy to be tossed around like this. Instead, I let the silence stretch, giving us both a breath.

Finally, I spoke, my voice soft. "I don't expect things to go back to the way they were. I know we can't erase the past. But I can be here now. I can help."

Donald looked at me, his expression unreadable, before finally nodding, though I wasn't sure if it was in acceptance or just resignation. "We'll see," he said, his voice guarded. "But I'm not promising anything."

I met his gaze, trying to convey the sincerity that my words couldn't quite reach. "I'm not asking for promises. I just need you to let me try."

His eyes lingered on me for a moment longer before he turned away, his shoulders tense. "Come on, Sapphire's waiting."

I nodded silently, feeling the walls between us thickening again. But this time, I knew something had shifted, even if just a little.

We walked in silence for a while, the sound of our footsteps on the gravel the only noise between us. The air felt thick, heavy with unspoken words. And then, without warning, Donald spoke again.

"Mama and Papa could hardly show their faces in the church after everything that happened," he said, his voice flat, almost bitter. "Their friends looked at them like they were to blame for what you did."

I felt a pang of guilt hit me, but I couldn't quite bring myself to apologize for the things I couldn't change. "I know," I whispered. "I know I hurt them. I just—"

"You don't even know the whole story," he muttered, his voice strained. "Papa... he's not the same anymore, Ruby." His words were slow, deliberate, as though he was piecing together something too fragile to speak too quickly. "A few months back, his supervisor called me. Said Papa had missed the company wellness check—the third time in two months. They suspended him until he could bring in a report."

I felt a cold knot settle in my chest, the unease in his voice cutting through me. "What's going on with him?"

Donald's gaze darkened, his jaw tightening. "I didn't know what was going on at first. He'd been acting different for a while... forgetting little things, getting turned around. One time, he went down the wrong street and didn't know how to get back until a security guard escorted him home. And he's... irritated all the time. About things he never used to care about."

His voice cracked slightly, and I could see the raw emotion behind his words, the burden of it weighing heavily on him. "When I went to pick up his test results, I asked the doctor what was going on," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "They said it's early onset Alzheimer's."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, I couldn't speak. I hadn't expected this. I knew things had been hard for them—frustrating—but this? This was so much more than I could have anticipated.

"He's not the man I remember, Ruby," Donald said quietly. "I'm watching him slip away, and I don't know how to stop it."

I felt my breath catch in my throat, the weight of his pain settling over me like a storm cloud. There were no easy words to offer him, no comforting lie I could give that would fix this. All I could do was listen.

"I don't know what to do," Donald whispered, the quiet desperation in his voice cutting deeper than I expected. "I can barely take care of myself right now. How am I supposed to help him? How am I supposed to tell Mama?"

"Donald... I had no idea," I whispered, the weight of his words settling in my chest like a stone.

He shrugged, his face contorting in a grimace, as if the hurt was too raw to express any other way. "Of course you didn't."

I didn't know how to respond to that. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, as the gravity of everything pressed down on me—the choices I'd made, the pain my family had carried in my absence, and now Papa's illness, a reminder that time wasn't something we could afford to waste.

The evening air bit at my skin, but it wasn't the chill that had me wrapped in my own arms, trying to hold myself together. It was the ache of knowing I wasn't the person I wanted to be, not for them, not for myself.

And then, as if the moment could be cut short, Sapphire came bounding back toward us, her wide grin lighting up the space between us. "Look, Ruby! Extra sprinkles!" she beamed, holding up her ice cream as though it were the most precious thing in the world.

Her innocence, her joy—everything I once hoped I could protect—was a stark contrast to the heaviness in the air. I forced a smile, the edges of it tight and trembling. "That's perfect, Blue. Enjoy every bite, okay?"

She nodded happily, completely unaware of the tension, her happiness a fleeting comfort I couldn't quite grasp.

Donald's eyes met mine again, hard and full of something I couldn't name. Something had shifted in him, in us. And though I knew he had every right to feel angry, to feel betrayed, a small part of me still wanted to fix it. Wanted to make everything right.

But he turned away before I could say anything else.

"Come on, Sapphire. Let's go."

Sapphire stopped, glancing back at me with a quiet worry that she didn't fully understand. "Do we have to leave already?"

I bent down, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear, offering her a smile that I hoped didn't show how broken I felt. "Yes, sweetheart. It's getting late. But don't worry, everything's okay. I'll see you soon."

I didn't know if that was true, if anything was okay. But it was all I could offer. Sapphire, reassured, took her brother's hand and followed him with a trust that made my heart ache.

They walked away, and the distance between us wasn't just physical. It felt like something deeper, a gulf that had only widened in the time I'd been gone. I watched them, willing myself not to break down right there.

But the tears threatened, blurring my vision. I blinked rapidly, hoping they'd stay hidden, buried with the thoughts I couldn't quite put into words.

A park bench sat a few paces away, and I plopped onto it.

The tears I'd been holding back slipped free, hot and silent. I buried my face in my hands, letting the weight of everything finally wash over me.

My chest tightened with each breath, but I tried to keep the sobs quiet, stifling them as best as I could, my fingers pressed against my lips to keep them from escaping. But the effort only made it worse—the tightness in my throat, the lump that refused to go away.

I hated this feeling. Hated that I had let it get this far. That I hadn't been there when they needed me the most. My family had been left to carry this burden without me, and now, when I finally had a chance to fix things, I felt like I was too late.

The rage simmered beneath the tears—at myself, at everything. I slammed my fist against the edge of the bench, the sound sharp and jarring in the stillness. It was as though I was punishing myself for every moment I'd let slip by, every day I had chosen to stay away, convincing myself that I wasn't needed.

But I had been. I always had been.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to quiet the sobs, but they came anyway, soft sniffles that I tried to hide behind the back of my hand. The shame clung to me, thick and suffocating. I couldn't even look at myself right now.

The world around me blurred as daylight quickly faded, the park emptying out as the sky dimmed. I didn't hear the footsteps at first, too lost in my thoughts to notice anything else. But when the shadow passed over me, I looked up, my face streaked with tears, the weight of everything still pulling at my chest.

"Gabriel?" I asked, surprised to see him standing there, his figure silhouetted against the fading light.

He gave me a small, understanding smile. "Hey. You looked like you could use some company."

I laughed softly, though it sounded hollow. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at the shelter?"

He shrugged, a casual, almost weary gesture. "Didn't feel like staying there tonight. Thought I'd take a walk, clear my head." He paused, his gaze softening as he looked at me. "You okay?"

I managed a small nod, though the lump in my throat was still there. "Not really. But I... I don't really want to talk about it."

He sat down on the bench beside me, leaving a comfortable space between us. "We don't have to talk," he said gently. "Sometimes it's enough just to... not be alone."

I blinked back the fresh wave of tears, my heart aching at his kindness. "Thank you," I murmured. "But... maybe another time?"

There was something grounding about his presence, something that didn't need explanations or apologies.

He nodded, his face gentle and accepting. "Another time, then."

I stood and offered him a grateful smile.

"Thanks, Gabriel. Really."

He returned the smile, watching me with a quiet understanding as I walked away. As I headed out of the park and back to my office, the weight on my shoulders felt a little lighter.

The walk back to the office felt slow, like wading through mud. Donald's words echoed in my mind—his pain, his anger, his fear. Why had I missed it? How had everything spiraled so far out of control?

Inside the office, the silence hit me like a weight. I packed my things with slow, deliberate motions, the emptiness of the space amplifying every unspoken word, every regret. The office felt like a tomb, echoing with the thoughts I wasn't brave enough to confront. I locked the door behind me, and as I stepped out, the cool evening air slapped me, making me feel even more raw.

I drove home with the weight of the day pressing on me, the streets flashing by like a blur. Every other driver seemed to be in my way, each one an obstacle I couldn't tolerate. When one car swerved in front of me, cutting me off, I slammed my fist against the steering wheel.

"Come on, you idiot!" I yelled, my voice loud in the empty car. "What the hell is wrong with people?"

I could feel the heat rise in my chest, the frustration boiling over. How had everything gotten so messed up? How had I let it get this bad? I was so angry with myself, with the world, with everything.

By the time I pulled into the parking lot outside my apartment, I was almost panting, my chest tight, my hands gripping the steering wheel like it could anchor me. The car ticked in the quiet, and I stayed there for a moment, just trying to catch my breath. The weight of everything—the guilt, the shame, the anger—was too much to hold in.

I dragged myself inside, the apartment feeling like a cold, unfamiliar place. The silence inside was almost suffocating, and I could feel the walls closing in around me. Tonight would be one I wouldn't forget, I knew that much. And for the first time, I wasn't sure how I was going to fix any of it.

🕚🕚

The office felt colder than usual as I stepped in, the familiar scent of coffee and paper hanging in the air.

Today, though, it felt like a far cry from the sanctuary it usually was. The weight of yesterday's nightmare lingered, clinging to me like a shadow, and the quiet walls of my workspace suddenly felt oppressive.

Each photo on the wall, every certificate, seemed to stare back at me, distant reminders of a person who had once felt whole.

Ember looked up, her eyes soft with a quiet concern she didn't voice.

"Good morning, Ruby," she said, her tone gentle, layered with unspoken understanding. "I rescheduled your morning clients. You've got some time to settle in."

"Thank you," I replied, managing a grateful nod, though it was more reflex than genuine.

As I sank into my chair, the cool fabric did little to soothe the unease thrumming beneath my skin.

I reached for the first file, trying to anchor myself to something tangible, yet each page felt like a reminder of the strength I was supposed to embody for others—a strength that felt dangerously thin.

The clock on the wall ticked in the silence, a steady beat pushing me forward, until a soft knock pulled me from my stupor.

I opened the door to find Damian standing there, his posture as reserved as ever, but his dark eyes held a searching quality, as if sensing the weight of my thoughts.

He nodded a quiet greeting as he stepped into the room, and I motioned toward the chair opposite mine.

"Morning," I managed, steadying my voice. "Thank you for coming in again."

He took his seat, his gaze lingering on me in that intense, unreadable way of his. Today, though, he didn't look away. Instead, he studied me, his head tilting slightly, a softness in his expression I wasn't used to.

"Are you... alright, Ruby?" he asked, his voice low and uncharacteristically gentle.

For a moment, I wanted to brush it off, to keep my own turmoil hidden. But I was too tired to pretend today.

"I'm here," I replied with a shadow of a smile.

"Let's just say... I'm listening a bit more today. If that's alright with you."

A flicker of something passed over Damian's face—concern, maybe?—before he settled back, taking my cue.

"Alright," he said, though his tone carried a hint of hesitation. "I suppose I could tell you about a recent experience."

I nodded, welcoming the distraction, and he leaned forward, his gaze dropping as he gathered his words.

"A few months back, I closed a business deal that required... a degree of manipulation," he began, his tone calm, almost detached.

"The client was someone I've known for a while. He's family-oriented, so I used that. I went through his daughter."

A faint line formed between his brows, a hint of regret flickering before his expression returned to its usual calm.

"She's young, inexperienced. I... let her believe I was interested in her, hinted that there could be something real between us. In reality, I only saw her as a bridge to the contract I needed."

He paused, his voice dropping to a murmur. "I knew her father would bend if he thought his daughter's happiness was at stake."

He looked back at me, his eyes shadowed, gauging my reaction. I listened, maintaining a composed expression, though his admission pressed against something heavy in me.

There was a brittle quality to his calm, as if a part of him understood the weight of what he was saying even as he kept it at arm's length.

"It worked," he continued, the words almost mechanical, as though he were reciting a fact.

"He awarded me the contract, convinced that I'd be part of their family someday. She believed it, too. And when I ended things... she was crushed. Her father was furious." He let out a breath, meeting my gaze. "But it doesn't keep me up at night. Does that make me... heartless?"

His question lingered, heavy, his eyes searching mine for an answer I wasn't sure I could give.