Page 80 of Duke of Fyre

"She made her choices," Lydia continued, her tone resolute. "You did what you thought was best. You can't carry this forever."

Elias shook his head. "But what if it happens again? What if?—"

"It won't," Lydia interrupted gently. "Because I'm not Barbara. And you're not the same man you were then."

He stared at her, searching her face as though trying to believe her words. Lydia squeezed his hands, her resolve unwavering.

"I thought that being the perfect wife—doing everything right—was the only way to be happy," she said. "But I've realized that none of it matters if I don't have you. If I don't have this family we've built."

Elias's gaze softened, the storm in his eyes giving way to something warmer, something fragile. "Lydia…"

"I love you, Elias," she said, her voice breaking slightly. "More than I've ever loved anyone. And I'm not going anywhere."

The silence that followed Lydia's confession seemed to stretch endlessly. Elias's arms remained firmly around her, his breath uneven against her temple. She let him hold her as long as he needed, her cheek resting against the warmth of his chest. She could feel the wild beat of his heart, and it matched her own.

Finally, he pulled back slightly, his hands still cupping her shoulders as though afraid she might vanish if he let her go entirely. His dark eyes searched hers, and for the first time, she saw vulnerability laid bare in their depths.

"I don't deserve you," he said hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lydia shook her head. "Elias, stop."

He didn't. "I don't. After everything—Barbara, Peter, the way I've shut you out so often—I don't deserve any of this."

"Yes, you do," she said firmly, her fingers tightening on his forearms. "Do you know why?"

He remained silent, his gaze dropping to the floor as though unwilling to face whatever kindness she might offer.

"You deserve it because you're here, Elias," she said, her voice unwavering. "You didn't have to tell me any of this. You could have kept it locked away, let it fester. But you didn't. You trusted me enough to share it, and that matters more than you know."

He exhaled sharply, as though her words had loosened something tangled in his chest. "I just… I can't stop thinking about what I've done. What I didn't do."

Lydia reached up, placing her palm against his cheek. "You were a boy when you married her. You were doing what you thought was right, the same way she thought leaving was right. But you've grown, Elias. You're not that boy anymore."

Elias turned his face into her hand, his eyes closing briefly. "But I still made mistakes. I thought keeping my distance from her would help her, but it only drove her away. And Peter—he's suffered for it. He lost his mother before he could even know her."

"And yet, you've been there for him," Lydia countered. "You've been his father, his protector. Don't you see that? You're so afraid of failing him that you can't see all the ways you've succeeded."

Her words struck something deep in him, and she saw it in the flicker of his eyes. But Elias shook his head, unwilling to let himself believe it entirely.

"I swore I'd never repeat my father's mistakes," he said quietly, almost to himself. "But some days, I wonder if I'm just as blind as he was."

The mention of the old Duke of Fyre made Lydia's stomach tighten. She had heard, though it was in mere whispers, some of the stories about the man Elias had called father. According to the servants he was not only cold, but downright cruel–unable to love, to care.

"You're nothing like him," Lydia said, her voice soft but firm. "You care, Elias. You care so much it's tearing you apart. And that alone makes you different."

Elias let out a bitter laugh. "Caring doesn't mean I'll make the right choices."

"No, but it means you'll try," Lydia replied. "And that's more than he ever did."

The room fell quiet again, the only sound the faint crackle of the fire Elias had lit earlier. Lydia's fingers brushed against his, a small gesture that felt monumental in the stillness.

After a long moment, Elias broke the silence. "I never told anyone the full story about Barbara. Not even Peter."

Lydia's brow furrowed. "Why?"

He looked away, his jaw tightening. "Because I didn't want him to hate me. He already struggles with her absence—I couldn't bear the thought of him blaming me for it."

Lydia hesitated before speaking, her voice gentle. "Do you think he doesn't wonder? Children are more perceptive than we give them credit for. He might not know the details, but he knows there's a weight you're carrying."

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