After Vanessa left, the silence in the penthouse was deafening.
Noah had settled on the floor with his crayons, completely absorbed in creating what appeared to be a purple diplodocus wearing a bow tie. The normalcy of it—a three-year-old drawing dinosaurs while his world quietly reshuffled around him—was both heartbreaking and beautiful.
Damien stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out at the city below, his shoulders tense with the weight of everything he was processing.
"Three years," he said quietly, without turning around.
"Yes."
"I missed everything. His first words, his first steps, his first birthday." His voice was hollow, devastated. "God, Elena, I missed three years of his life."
"I know. I'm sorry."
"Why?" He turned to face me, and the pain in his eyes was almos
