Page 78 of A Mistake of Worth
Michael,
Thank you. For the mornings. For the quiet. For letting me choose my own clothes, put cream in my coffee, and yell at you when I needed to.
He had to stop. Had to breathe. The words blurred in front of him.
I’m sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye properly. I hope you remember me fondly.
I hope someday I can remember myself the same way.
Yours, H.
Michael’s knees gave out. He sank into the nearest chair, the note crumpling slightly in his white-knuckled grip. He read it again, slower this time, his brain refusing to process what it meant.
Henri hadn’t wanted to leave. The apology made that clear. Someone had made him say goodbye when he didn’t want to.
Michael’s chest constricted, his breathing coming in short, sharp gasps. The careful formality of the note, but also the rushed quality. Henri’s usually perfect handwriting was slightly hurried, the letters not quite as precise as usual.
Henri had been happy here. Michael had seen it in the slow relaxation of his shoulders over the weeks, in the way he’d started laughing without checking Michael’s reaction first, in how he’d begun choosing his own meals at restaurantsand taking long baths and wearing Michael’s sweaters like he belonged in them.
Just this morning, Henri had mentioned possibly asking Gabriel if he could extend his stay. He’d been nervous about it, but hopeful.
Something had happened. Someone had taken that choice away from him.
Michael forced himself to breathe. In through his nose, out through his mouth. His hands were still shaking as he pulled out his phone and called the first name that came to mind.
Gabriel picked up on the second ring.
“Michael? How’s—”
“Gabriel.” Michael’s voice cracked on the name, breaking completely. “Henri’s gone.”
Silence on the other end. Then, very quietly, “What do you mean, gone?”
“I came home and—” Michael’s breath hitched. He pressed his palm against his eyes. “He’s not here. His things are missing. He left a—” His voice broke again. “He left a note.”
“Michael, slow down. Take a breath.” Gabriel’s voice shifted, became sharp and focused. “Tell me exactly what happened. When did you last speak to Henri?”
“This morning. Before I left for work.” Michael sucked in air, trying to steady himself. “He was fine. Better than fine. He was talking about asking you if he could extend his stay, maybe work remotely from London.” Michael’s throat tightened around the words. “He was happy, Gabriel. He was finally learning to be happy.”
“And when you got home?”
“He was gone. Like someone made him pack in a hurry.” Michael’s voice was steadier now, anger cutting through the panic. “The note reads like a fucking goodbye letter.”
A sharp intake of breath on the other end. “What time did he leave EcoSphere?”
“His meeting was supposed to end by four. It’s past six now.”
A pause. Then Gabriel’s voice, grim and certain. “Marc.”
Michael’s stomach dropped, the sick feeling intensifying. “What?”
“It has to be Marc.” Gabriel’s voice was tight, controlled fury underneath. “Henri wouldn’t have left voluntarily. Not like this. Not without a real goodbye. Not when he was finally—” Gabriel cut himself off. “Fuck. I should have seen this coming. I should have known Marc wouldn’t just let him go.”
“Gabriel—”
“He’s been too quiet. Ever since Henri left PDC, Marc’s been silent. No calls, no threats, nothing. I thought maybe he’d finally accepted it, but he was just planning.” Gabriel’s words came faster now, sharp with self-recrimination. “I should have anticipated this. Should have had someone watching Henri, should have—”
“We can figure out blame later,” Michael interrupted, his own voice hardening. “Right now, we need to find him. His EcoSphere meeting, someone there might have seen what happened. Who picked him up.”
