For years, I had resented him, but the ache of missing him had never completely disappeared.
What would have happened if he had stayed? Maybe I would have been loved the way I had been as a child without the bitter shadow of abandonment hanging over me. Maybe I wouldn’t have met Cohen. Maybe I wouldn’t have become entangled with the Whitmore family.
The man watched me closely, noticing the rush of conflicting emotions that crossed my face. He sighed softly as if he could see through me.
Carefully, he offered me the cup of water beside him, its warmth grounding me, pulling me out of the cold memories.
"How is he now?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
I had imagined countless scenarios, imagining that if I ever found him, I would let him have it, making him regret every second of his absence.
But now, all I wanted was to hear about him, to know he was well.
“He’s now a tenured professor at that school, and he’s thriving.”
"In his own words, he’s incredibly fortunate to have achieved his lifelong dream."
"Giselle, your artistic talent must have come from him."