Page 48 of October
"I know," I whispered. "I know I messed up. Being weak and pathetic and wrong."
He crossed his arms and looked me up and down like I was a used car someone tried to return. "You? Weak? Pathetic? Nooo. Say it ain't so. Raised by a robot in a suit, mentored by Cruella de Corporate. Honestly, I'm amazed you can tie your own shoes without asking for a quarterly review."
A bitter laugh slipped out of me, sharp and empty, but real. Something cracked open in my chest, and for a second, it felt like air could finally reach places that had been locked tight. Joseph's gaze didn't soften, exactly, but it shifted. Like he was seeing something he didn't want to see.
"Listen," he said, voice lower now. "I'm angry at you. Let's not pretend otherwise. If it were up to me, you'd be scrubbing public toilets with your toothbrush for the next decade."
I opened my mouth to speak, but he held up a hand.
"But," he added, slower now, "I also... feel sorry for you."
That surprised me more than the threats.
"Your father, he's a block of ice with a bank account. Cold, controlled, and cruel in that polite, buttoned-up way that never leaves bruises. The kind of man who can gut you with a smile and still get thanked for dinner. He doesn't raise his voice, because people like him don't need to. They break you with silence, with disappointment, with the knowledge that no matter what you do, it's never enough."
He shook his head slowly.
"And your mother?" He let out a low breath. "She spent her life chasing crumbs of affection from him, scraping together any look, any word, like a starving dog. So busy trying to please that man, she didn't even see the wreckage behind her. Her kids were starving for something real. Something warm. Something human. And she never noticed. Or if she did... she just hoped you wouldn't need more than she did."
His eyes locked with mine then, sharper than ever.
"And that is just based on what I saw and heard from October, God knows what they actually did to you. So don't act so surprised you ended up the way you did. You were handed a blueprint for emotional bankruptcy and told to build a life with it."
My throat tightened. He wasn't wrong. Not even a little.
"So yeah," he went on, "I get it. In some twisted way, I do. You grew up thinking love meant earning it. Proving yourself. Performing. And when someone like Laura waltzed in, smiling like a Disney villain and feeding your ego? Of course you listened. She spoke the only language you were ever taught: approval with strings attached."
He paused, eyeing me carefully.
"But here's the thing, Thomas—being handed a shitty deck doesn't excuse you for playing it badly."
I nodded slowly, swallowing the lump rising in my throat. He sighed. " I'm telling you this not because I like you—but because I love her. You've got a chance to be more than your past. But only if you stop making excuses and start choosing better."
I looked down at my hands. "I want to." Joseph didn't smile. I swallowed hard. "I will, I love her," I said, quietly but firmly.
Joseph gave me a look like I'd just declared I was auditioning for The Bachelor. "I don't really buy it," he said, arms crossing again. "Because you know what? I don't think you actually know what love is."
I opened my mouth, ready to say how I've worked myself into the ground providing for her, for our son, for the life we built. I work. I provide. I—
"Say 'provide', and I'll strangle you with one of your overpriced ties. And if you bring up marrying her like it was a humanitarian effort, I swear, I'll call Guinness for the world's largest ego."
I stopped. Jaw clenching. Throat dry.
He nodded grimly. "Yeah. That's what I thought."
Then he took a breath, tone shifting—not softer, but steadier. Like he was delivering an unpleasant truth you didn't want to hear, but needed.
"Loving someone—reallyloving someone—is not about signing checks or standing next to them at the altar. It's about putting them before you. It's showing up when it's ugly. It's seeing their needs, not just your own. It's respecting them when they'rein the roomandwhen they're not. It's making damn sure they're emotionally and physically safe, especially from you. It's choosing them—over your pride, your distractions, your daddy issues,yourself—every day."
I didn't say anything. I was listening. Actually listening. Like something important was being wired into me for the first time. It was weird and unsettling—like I was trying to reprogram the default settings I never even realized were installed. I'd learned a lot about deals and leverage and staying two steps ahead. No one ever taught me how to love someone like they were a human being, not a reflection of my usefulness.
Joseph watched me for a long moment, then exhaled and rubbed a hand down his face. "But you know what?" he muttered. "I'll be here for you."
I looked up, surprised.
"God knowshow muchI don't like you. I don't love you. I can barely tolerate you. Honestly, you rank somewhere between the DMV and wet socks."
"Yeah, yeah, I get it," I said with a dry smile.
