Chapter 8 - Rebuilding the Foundation
Winter turned into spring. The snow melted, and the estate’s gardens bloomed.
Sarah and the twins had officially moved out of the guest wing and into the main house. We didn't rush anything romantically; there was too much trauma to unpack. Instead, we spent our evenings sitting by the fire, talking. Really talking.
I learned about the nights she spent crying in her car, the odd jobs she worked until she was too pregnant to stand, the sheer terror of giving birth in a state hospital with no one holding her hand.
In return, I told her about the emptiness of my success. How the millions in the bank felt like monopoly money without someone to share it with. How I had let my ego convince me that providing wealth was the same as providing love.
“I’m different now,” I told her one evening as we watched the twins crawl across the living room rug. “I don’t care about being the richest man in the room anymore. I just want to be a good father. And... I want to be a better man for you. If you’ll let me try.”
May you like
Sarah looked at me, the firelight catching the auburn in her hair. She didn't say yes, but she didn't say no. She just reached over and intertwined her fingers with mine.
It was a start.
