Page 12 of The Breakup Broker

The hallway stretched before me as the elevator doors slid open, the route to his room ingrained in my muscle memory. My feet carried me forward, each step a silentprayer that today would be one of his good days—that the fog of his illness would recede long enough for us to truly connect, even if only for a moment.

I found his door open, warm October sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the garden. The room was one of the facility’s best suites—a fact my father never failed to mention when discussing the cost. James Morrison sat by the window in his favorite leather chair, watching leaves scatter across the manicured lawn below.

He looked up as I approached, and I held my breath, waiting to see if today’s version of my grandfather would remember me.

His faded blue eyes sharpened. “Henry. You look troubled.”

A squeeze of emotion gripped my chest at the clarity in his voice. These moments were precious now, appearing and vanishing like the sun between storm clouds. I remained standing, taking in the view of the beautiful gardens below. Fall had painted the ornamental pears in shades of burgundy and gold, while late-blooming hydrangeas added splashes of deep purple beneath. Everything about this place was different—too polished, too perfect, like that ring burning a hole in my pocket.

“How do you always know?” The familiar ache of seeing him here, diminished yet still so present, tangled with the raw edges Savvy’s appearance had left behind.

“The same way I know when it’s going to rain.” He tapped his temple, the gesture so achingly familiar it hurt. “Some things you feel in your bones, even when the bones are old and creaky.”

On the side table, familiar faces grinned from silver frames— my parents at their tenth anniversary party,graduation, summers in the Hamptons before his mind slipped. I remembered the day each photo was taken, recalled how he’d stood apart at society events, more comfortable among his beloved buildings than Manhattan’s elite. His smile reached his eyes in every frame—something I hadn’t managed in years.

“I saw her today.” The words tumbled out, dragging years of buried guilt along with them. I sank into the visitor’s chair beside him, my hands gripping the arms as if holding on could keep the flood of memories from swallowing me whole.

His attention moved from the garden. “The girl from college?”

My throat tightened. He remembered. Of course, he remembered. He’d been the only one who’d understood what Savvy meant to me, seeing past her last name and small-town roots to recognize something real.

"Yes, Savvy," I said, dragging out each syllable like it hurt—because it did.

"Ah." One simple sound, but it carried volumes of understanding.

“She...” I swallowed hard, trying to force down the irony. “She was hired to break up with me. By Caroline.”

His laugh startled me, genuine and warm in a way I rarely heard anymore. “Life has a funny way of bringing things full circle, doesn’t it?”

The ring box pressed against my thigh, a constant reminder of everything I’d lost and thrown away. “The day I left her, I broke her, Grandpa.” The words scraped my throat like sandpaper. “She’s different now. Harder.”

“Heartbreak hardens people.” My grandfather’s gaze sharpened, showing me the man who’d built an empire by seeing what others missed. “Did you ever consider that youshould have given her the choice? That she was stronger than you gave her credit for?”

The question hit like a physical blow, forcing the air from my lungs. No, I hadn’t. I’d done exactly what my father did—decided for others, convinced I knew best. I’d become everything I’d sworn I’d never be, wielding power like a weapon, thinking I could protect her by controlling her fate.

“You can’t abandon something because it’s difficult,” he said, looking out at the leaves blowing in the wind. “Sometimes the best things in life come from working through the challenges.”

I stared past him at those falling leaves, remembering how Savvy used to sit in the bookstore window seat, dreaming up futures that now would never be. The future I’d stolen from her with my silence, my cowardice masked as nobility. “I don’t think there’s anything left to rebuild.” The words seemed hollow, echoing my father’s certainty that everything could be reduced to simple profit and loss equations.

“There’s always something worth saving.” He patted my hand, his touch as familiar as my guilt. “If you know where to look. And if you’re willing to do the work.”

His words hung in the air as an aide appeared with his morning coffee service. The moment of clarity was ending—I could see it in the way his eyes clouded, like watching a door slowly close. But he’d given me something to hold on to. Even as his mind betrayed him, his heart remained true.

I stood to leave, but his hand caught my sleeve. “Henry?”

“Yes?”

“Some breaks...” He gestured vaguely toward thegarden, where sunlight fractured through autumn leaves. “Some breaks let the light in.”

I kissed his forehead, inhaling the familiar scent of his aftershave, wondering how many more lucid moments we had left. How many more chances would I have to hear his wisdom before the fog claimed him completely?

“I should go.” I stood, straightening my jacket. “Do you need anything? Books? Music?”

“Bring that girl to visit.” His voice carried a surprising strength.

“Grandpa, I can’t—that’s not possible.”

“Anything’s possible if you want it bad enough.” His eyes held that sharp clarity again. “Humor this old man, Henry. I don’t ask for much.”

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