Her lips quivered, no words forthcoming.

He released her hand with gentle resignation.

Frustration gnawing at him, he longed for a smoke.

Finally, he spoke, his voice a calm veneer.

“Cecilia, I’ve wronged you, I know. And I feel your resentment. I’ve lived these years, risking everything for you, our kids. I’ve earned your coldness, but I’m aging, Cecilia. I wanna do everything to care for you and our family while I still can. If we prolong this, I fear it’ll be too late.”

His gaze held her. Her vitality contrasted his concealed fear of aging.

let her see the insecurity shadowing his pride. The fear that

reluctance to chase her, but a cruel race

Cecilia’s heart sank.

to forgive him, to grasp his hand, to say she bore no

But she couldn’t.

departed in tears, unaware Mark

of rights and wrongs, perhaps misguided

on Gøøglᴇ

ceased his overtures, kept abreast of her life only through snippets. Her career moves, social life, unsuccessful blind

sporadically, thanks to the kids, with brief, indifferent

sure if it was

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