You hadn’t spoken a single word since the invitation.

Not when Elian’s letter arrived, ink shaky, sealed with trembling hands. Not when he requested a luncheon—just the four of you. Not even when Damian read the card aloud, face hardening with every word.

You didn’t protest. But you didn’t agree either.

You simply stood. Dressed. Sat in the car beside Damian with your hands folded in your lap.

He didn’t ask questions. He never did when you were like this. He simply stayed close—always too close—watching you with quiet fury burning behind his eyes.

When you entered the dining room of the reserved estate venue, Elian rose immediately. So did Maribelle, who wore pearls and a hopeful smile, hands clutching a little gift bag she never got to offer.

“Mum,” Elian breathed, voice soft and tired. “Dad.”

You sat. Damian sat beside you. He didn’t even glance at the food.

Elian looked exhausted. As if he hadn’t slept since leaving your house weeks ago. Dark circles hollowed his eyes. His suit was perfectly pressed, but he looked like a man unraveling beneath the seams.

“I—I hope you’re comfortable,” he said, trying not to stare at you too hard. “I made sure everything was how you like it. The seating, the wine, even the flowers…”

Still, you said nothing.

Your eyes were fixed on the lilies in the centerpiece. One was beginning to wilt.

Damian crossed his arms. “She doesn’t want the wine.”

Elian flinched. “Of course. I can have it—”

“She doesn’t want any of this,” Damian cut sharply.

Maribelle leaned forward gently. “We just wanted to spend time together. To make peace, maybe.”

You blinked slowly.

Elian swallowed. “I know I hurt you, Mum. But I didn’t mean to. I—I love her. I didn’t choose her over you. I just… I want you both in my life.”

Damian scoffed.

Elian kept his voice steady. “Please. Just talk to me. Yell at me if you have to. Just say something.”

You stirred your tea slowly.

Your lips parted—

—but only to turn toward Damian.

“Is it cold in here?” you asked softly, finally.

Damian reached for your shawl instantly. “I’ll have them turn up the heat.”

Not a word to your son.

Not a glance.

Elian’s throat bobbed. He looked down at his lap, hands clasped tightly together to stop them from shaking.

Maribelle reached under the table and took his hand in both of hers.

Still smiling.

Still kind.

But even she couldn’t mask the storm passing through the table.

Damian stood up minutes later. “We’re done here.”

“But we haven’t—” Elian started.

“She didn’t come for food,” Damian snapped. “She came to see if your love was still worth her silence. Guess what?”

Elian stood too, tears swimming in his eyes.

“I’m trying,” he whispered. “Doesn’t that count for something?”

You didn’t answer.

You simply stood, eyes still trained on the lilies.

And this time, it was you who walked out first—Damian following close behind, his hand on your lower back like a shield.

Elian stayed standing long after the door shut behind you. Staring at the untouched food. At the wilting petals.

“She looked so beautiful,” he whispered.