CHAPTER 2 — What Was Never Said
They didn’t talk about the ballroom again.
Not directly.
Some things don’t get repeated—they echo.
Instead, Ethan started appearing in places that didn’t fit him.
The bakery.
The hospital he built.
The small courtyard behind St. Catherine’s Wing, now rebuilt in glass and white stone.
And Lily noticed something strange.
He never brought bodyguards.
Never brought Vanessa’s world.
Only silence.
One afternoon, she found him sitting alone in the hospital courtyard, staring at a group of children playing through the glass.
“You come here a lot,” she said.
“I built it,” he replied.
“That’s not what I meant.”
A pause.
Then, quieter:
“It feels different now that she’s alive.”
Lily looked at him.
“You mean me.”
He nodded slightly.
“I spent twenty years building a grave I didn’t know was empty.”
The words didn’t sound dramatic in his voice.
Just tired.
Human.
Lily sat beside him.
“I didn’t know you were looking.”
“I didn’t know I was supposed to stop.”
Silence stretched.
Not uncomfortable.
Just heavy.
Then she pulled something from her pocket.
A piece of folded paper.
A crane.
But imperfect.
One wing slightly crooked.
“I never got good at it,” she said.
Ethan took it carefully.
“I didn’t either.”
A faint almost-smile.
May you like
“Still better than mine,” he added.
For the first time, they both laughed—not because it was funny, but because it was safe.
