She still loves you, Eleanor said, in case you were wondering. She told me. And? And I still love her, too. For all the good it does either of us.
Eleanor was quiet for a moment, then my husband left me when Victoria was five. Said he didn't sign up for a family, that he wasn't ready, all the usual excuses men make when they're scared. I raised her alone. Worked two jobs to keep us afloat. And I was so determined to be strong, to show her she didn't need anyone else that I think I accidentally taught her that needing people is weakness.
That's not your fault. Isn't it? She's brilliant and successful and utterly alone. And I wonder sometimes if that's my legacy. If I raised her to be so independent that she can't let anyone in.
Lucas thought about his own daughter. About the lessons he was teaching her, intentionally or not. "I'm doing the same thing with Mia," he admitted. "Teaching her that love is something you sacrifice, that you put everyone else first, even when it destroys you." "Then maybe we're both doing it wrong," Eleanor said.
"Yeah, maybe we are." They stood there, two people who'd made different mistakes that led to the same result. Broken children who didn't know how to be whole. "For what it's worth," Eleanor said, "I think you two should try again." "It's been 7 years."
"So?" "Time doesn't erase feelings, it just buries them, but they're still there, still real." "What if it doesn't work?" "What if it does?" Lucas shook his head.
"I can't risk it, not with Mia in the picture. I can't bring someone into her life and then have it fall apart. That's not fair to her." "And it's fair to raise her watching you be miserable?" "I'm not miserable."
Eleanor gave him a look that said she didn't believe that for a second. "Kids are smarter than we give them credit for," she said. "They see things, feel things, and what Mia's learning right now is that her father is capable of love, but chooses to deny himself. What do you think that teaches her about her own worth, about what she deserves?" The words hit like a physical blow.
"That's not I'm not I'm not saying it to hurt you. I'm saying it because someone needs to." Eleanor's voice was gentle, but firm. "You're a good father, Lucas, but being a good father doesn't mean sacrificing your entire life on the altar of parenthood. It means showing your child what a full, healthy, happy life looks like, so she knows that's possible for her, too."
Lucas wanted to argue, wanted to defend himself, his choices, his carefully constructed life, but he couldn't. Cuz deep down, he knew she was right. That evening, the plow finally came through. They heard it before they saw it. The grinding roar of the engine, the scrape of metal on pavement.
Everyone rushed to the windows. The road wasn't perfect, but it was passable. "We can leave in the morning," Richard announced. "Get Margaret to a proper doctor." Relief swept through the room, except Lucas didn't feel relieved.
He felt panicked because in the morning, Victoria would leave and he'd never see her again. The realization hit him like a truck. Seven years ago, he'd let her go because he thought it was right, noble, selfless. But there was nothing noble about cowardice, and that's what it was, he realized now, pure cowardice. He'd been too scared to fight for her, too scared to risk the disapproval of their parents, the complication of their families merging, the possibility of failure.
So, he chose the safe option, the easy option, and he'd been paying for it ever since. That night, while everyone else was packing, Lucas found Victoria on the porch. She was bundled in her coat, staring out at the snow-covered landscape. The storm had finally stopped. Stars were visible now, bright and clear.
"It's beautiful," she said without turning around. "Yeah." "I forgot how quiet it gets after." "Victoria, I'm leaving early," she said abruptly, "before everyone else. My mother's staying to help with Margaret, but I need to get back.
Work stuff." It was a lie, and they both knew it. "Don't," Lucas said. "Don't what?" "Run.
Not again." She turned to face him. "I'm not running. I'm being practical. There's nothing for me here."
"Yes, there is." "Lucas, I love you." The words came out rough, desperate. "I never stopped, not for one single day in seven years, and I know I don't have the right to say it. I know I have no claim on you, but I'm saying it anyway because if you walk away tomorrow and I never get to tell you, I won't survive that regret.
Victoria stared at him. Her eyes were wet, but her expression was hard. "You don't get to do this," she said. "You don't get to stand there and tell me you love me when you're not willing to do anything about it." "What do you want me to do?"
"Fight." Her voice broke. "Fight for this, for us. Stop hiding behind excuses and just fight." "I am fighting."
"No, you're not. You're standing here making declarations, but what happens tomorrow? You go back to your life. I go back to mine, and we pretend this never happened again." "It doesn't have to be like that."
"Then what?" "What are you offering me, Lucas? A long-distance relationship? Weekend visits?" "What happens when Mia asks who I am?"
"What do you tell her?" "The truth." "Which is?" Lucas took a breath. "That you're the woman I love, that I was an idiot to let you go, and that I'm asking, begging for another chance."
Victoria's composure cracked. Tears spilled over. "You can't just say that and expect everything to be okay." "I know." "Seven years, Lucas.
Seven years of silence, of building walls, of convincing myself I was better off without you. And now you stand here and tear it all down with three words?" "I'm sorry." "Sorry doesn't fix this." "Then tell me what does.