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“When I was fifteen, my father told me,” he continued, his voice breaking, “that a Thorne man always puts his career first. He said emotions were a weakness, family was a burden, and true success required being ruthless. My mother… she accepted that rule. She never complained, never asked for anything. She just stayed quietly in our house in the Hamptons, waiting for him to come home once a month.”
He looked up at me, tears streaming down his face. “I thought that’s what marriage was supposed to be like. I thought I was doing better than my father—at least I came home, at least I bought gifts, at least I… wasn’t completely absent.”
“So when you said you needed me, when you said you were alone at the hospital,” his voice dropped to a whisper, “deep down, I felt… like you were asking for too much. Like you were breaking the rules. And Chloe… she never asked for anything. She just looked at me with those worshipful eyes and said, ‘You’re so amazing, I don’t know what I’d do without you.’”
He covered his face with his hands, his shoulders shaking violently. “I was addicted to that feeling. The feeling of being needed, of being admired, of being the savior. Because it made me feel… powerful. And you, Harper, you never needed to be saved. You were already whole on your own.”
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