Still Had Feelings
I leaned forward. “How did you do it, Remi?”
Still nothing.
“How did you raise two kids, work your way through school, survive everything—without anyone?”
Finally, her eyes flicked to mine. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“But you did,” I said softly. “You could’ve gone to the press. You could’ve ruined me. Taken everything.”
She looked away again.
I pressed, “Why didn’t you?”
She sat there for a long moment. The fire crackled. The storm grumbled outside.
Then she spoke.
“I almost did,” she said. “Once.”
I waited.
“I had the papers printed. The story. I was going to walk into your office. Your family’s boardroom. Hand it over and destroy you.”
“…Why didn’t you?”
“Because Jules was dying,” she whispered.
That name.
I didn’t know it.
But something in me stilled.
“I was busy praying for donations and begging doctors. I couldn’t afford revenge.”
I felt my throat tighten. “Remi—”
“You want to know what you did to me?” she interrupted, her voice rising slightly. “You married me. And on our wedding day, you cheated. You didn’t even hide it. You made it loud. You made it public. Like you wanted to shame me.”
My stomach turned.
“You made me a joke in front of your entire family. Treated me like dirt beneath your shoe. You called me a gold digger. You made me feel like a whore. You slept with me but only because you wanted an heir. You also warned me if would never happen again. Your father beat me for losing our child.”
I closed my eyes.
She kept going.
“You made me believe I was nothing. You cheated on me with Gigi. I couldn't even afford therapy. If not for Claire, Asher, Carter, I have no idea where I would be right now. Maybe dead. But I am alive as a mother, a survivor. A woman. So yeah, I did everything and left you.”
The words were simple. But they were knives.
“I took my babies and disappeared. And I promised myself never to look back.”
The fire popped.
She sat forward suddenly, voice trembling. “So no, Rowan. You don’t get to earn it back with one kind gesture. Or two. Or twenty. Or fifty.”
I nodded.
“I know,” I whispered. “But I need you to know something too.”
She raised her head.
“I don’t remember the man who did that to you. But I hate him. With everything in me.”
Her jaw clenched.
“I’m not asking for forgiveness,” I added. “I just… I want you to know I’m not him. Not anymore.”
She looked at me then—really looked.
I stood, slowly. Walked to the window. Watched the storm.
And said, “But if you still see him when you look at me… I understand.”
I heard her shift in the chair. The blanket rustled.
Silence stretched between us.
But she hadn’t left.
And that—for now—was enough.
Finally, her voice cut through the quiet. “I don’t know what I see when I look at you anymore.”
I turned.
She was staring at the fire, lips pressed in a thin line.
“I used to look at you and see the man I could spend the rest of my life with,” she said. “Then I saw a stranger. Then a monster. Then a ghost.”
I didn’t flinch.
“And now?” I asked.
Her eyes met mine, tired and sharp. “Now I see a question I don’t know how to answer.”
I sat down again, slower this time. “Then let me be quiet until you figure it out.”
She huffed a laugh, but it didn’t carry far. “You were never quiet, Rowan. Not back then.”
“I don’t remember back then.”
“I do.”
That was the part that hurt the most.
I looked down at my hands. “You said I cheated on our wedding day.”
Her jaw clenched.
“I don’t want to make you relive that, but… did I even try to hide it?”
“No,” she whispered.
My throat burned. “And I—God, Remi. I was that cruel?”
“You didn’t care.”
“But I care now.”
She looked at me like she wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse.
“Every time I remember something—even just a glimpse—I feel sick,” I admitted. “Not because it’s unclear. But because I think deep down, I didn’t lose my memory because of the accident.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
I hesitated. Then said it.
“I think… part of me wanted to forget.”
She didn’t speak.
I went on. “I think I hated who I’d become. And some twisted part of me saw the crash as a way out. A reset.”
“You think forgetting your sins makes them go away?” Her voice was sharp now.
“No,” I said quickly. “No. I think they haunt me more now because of it. Every time I look at you, or the kids, or even myself—I wonder what I destroyed. Who I hurt. And why the hell I let myself become that person.”
Remi didn’t look away. “I carried our children while working two jobs and hiding from your family. I delivered them alone. Raised them alone.”
“I should’ve been there.”
“But you weren’t.”
“I’m sorry.”
She flinched.
I repeated it anyway. “I’m sorry. Not the way people say when they’re trying to smooth something over. I mean it. Every day since I found out who you were, I’ve been trying to piece together who I was. And every time I uncover something new, I want to scream.”
Her lips parted, but nothing came out.
“I know this isn’t fair,” I said. “Me begging for grace when I never gave you any. But I’m not here to fix things overnight. I’m just here.”
“You don’t get points for showing up late.”
“I know.”
She exhaled, long and heavy.
I reached for the glass of water on the table. Took a sip. My hands were trembling.
“You can hate me,” I said. “I’d understand.”
“I don’t hate you,” she said quietly.
That stunned me.
“I wish I did,” she added. “It would’ve been easier.”
The fire popped again.
And then her voice cracked—barely a whisper.
“I wish I
could forget you like you forgot me.”
I looked up.
And that was when I realized—
She hadn’t stayed because she wanted answers.
She’d stayed because she still had feelings.
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