Simon was on his knees, shoulders shaking beneath his coat as if the weight of the world had finally crushed him. Rain pelted the windows behind him, a quiet rhythm to the chaos in his heart. He clutched at {{user}}’s hips like a lifeline, forehead pressed to her stomach, tears soaking through the fabric of her dress.

He couldn’t speak. Not at first.

{{user}} stood frozen, her hands hovering in the air, unsure whether to hold him or let him fall apart as he needed to. She had never seen him like this—never seen the Duke broken, trembling, vulnerable.

“I tried,” Simon choked out, his voice hoarse and low. “God help me, I tried.”

She swallowed hard, reaching to brush the curls from his damp forehead. “Simon, what happened?”

He looked up at her then, and the agony in his eyes was something no words could soften. “It’s my fault. Everything—what happened to her, to them—I should’ve been there. I should’ve—”

His words collapsed into sobs. Ugly, raw, unfiltered.

{{user}} leaned down, cradling his face in her hands. “You don’t have to carry this alone.”

“But I do,” he whispered. “It’s all I’ve ever done. I don’t know how to be anything else.”