“You left before they could leave you.”
“That’s not why… It’s not like I…” I go still. Because she’s not wrong. I swallow.
Her voice softens. “Do you love them?”
“Yes.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
“No favorites?”
I laugh, but it breaks halfway through. “No. They’re…very different. But they’re mine. Or they were.”
“This isn’t an easy situation you put yourself in.”
Another laugh. “No, it is not.”
“Vivian sounds like a real piece of work. I can understand wanting to step out of the mess.”
I nod, sighing. “She’s impossible. Too powerful. Too much of a hold over everyone.”
She leans forward again, resting her elbows on her knees. “If I had a chance to be with your father again, do you think anything could’ve stopped me?”
I shake my head.
“Not a scandal. Not a company. Not a complicated relationship or a power structure. It took death to separate us.”
That catches me.
She smiles softly. “Love doesn’t care about rules, Parker. It doesn’t care about optics or PR or who makes more money or how messy it gets.”
“But it costs things.”
“Regret costs more.”
I sit with her words for a long time. We don’t fill the silence with noise. We don’t reach for distractions. We just breathe in it—me staring at the embroidery on the armrest, her watching my face like she’s trying to commit it to memory.
I wipe my cheek with the sleeve of my sweater. “Do you think it’s fixable?”
She nods, like it’s not even a question. “Love doesn’t break that easily.”
“But what about everything else?”
“Everything else is just background noise.”
I shake my head. “Phil won’t forgive me. He’ll lose it. He’s been protective since Dad died, but this—this is different.”
She snorts softly. “Sweetheart, Phil has been full of hot air and self-importance ever since he learned how to use the TV remote before you did.”
I blink at her. Then laugh, for real this time.
Her eyes twinkle behind her glasses. “He thinks it’s his job to manage everyone’s lives, but he forgets that you’re grown now. Sometimes, I do too. But you’ve made a home. You’ve raised two children. You built something for yourself. He can’t see past the past.”
“He means well.”
“He does. He thinks he knows what’s best for us both, and he’s not shy about saying so.” She sits up straighter. Then she smiles, sweet and gentle. “Fuck Phil.”