Chương 8
The honesty surprised me.
I looked at him.
“Who are they?”
He stared at the photograph again.
“I don’t know yet.”
That answer bothered me.
Not because I expected him to know everything.
Because I had started to understand that Dominic’s greatest fear was not losing control.
It was discovering that he never had it.
“What happened the night your wife died?”
The question was out before I could stop it.
The room became still.
Dominic did not look angry.
He looked tired.
Like he had been waiting years for someone to ask.
“My wife was named Elena.”
I sat down across from him.
Not because he asked.
Because suddenly I felt like I needed to.
“She was better than me.”
The words were simple.
No performance.
No attempt to make himself look tragic.
Just a fact he believed.
“She saw things in people that I didn’t.”
“What happened?”
He looked toward the window.
“An accident.”
The answer was too quick.
I noticed.
“So you don’t believe that.”
He looked at me.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I spent years trying to convince myself it was.”
A chill moved through me.
Dominic folded his hands.
“Elena was going to leave Boston.”
“Because of you?”
“Yes.”
The answer came without hesitation.
“She wanted Leo away from everything connected to me.”
I looked down.
“That must have hurt.”
“It did.”
His voice remained calm.
“That was the problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was angry that she wanted to take my son away.”
He swallowed.
“And while I was angry, I ignored what she was trying to tell me.”
“What was she trying to tell you?”
“That the people around me were not loyal.”
The room felt colder.
“She had found something.”
“What?”
Dominic looked at me.
“That is the part I never understood.”
“Never?”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“Because she died before she could tell me.”
I stayed silent.
A thousand questions existed.
But one mattered more.
“Why do you think someone is bringing this up now?”
Dominic looked toward the door.
“Because someone knows I changed.”
I did not understand.
He continued.
“Years ago, nobody cared if I was cruel.”
His fingers tightened.
“They benefited from it.”
“And now?”
“Now I have something to lose.”
The answer was quiet.
“Leo.”
He nodded.
“And you.”
I looked at him.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
The certainty in his voice unsettled me.
“Why?”
“Because Lily made Leo happy.”
I did not expect that answer.
“She also made me remember something.”
“What?”
He looked at the drawing on his desk.
“What it felt like before everything became about surviving.”
I looked away.
There was something painful about hearing him admit that.
Not because I felt sorry for him.
Because I believed him.
And believing him was dangerous.
The next week changed everything.
Dominic hired someone to investigate the phone call.
Not because he trusted the police.
Not because he believed official answers would come quickly.
Because he trusted patterns.
People who had spent years hiding things often knew where to look for what others missed.
But the investigation created problems.
The house became tense again.
Leo noticed.
Of course he did.
Children always noticed when adults tried to pretend things were normal.
One afternoon, he found me in the kitchen.
“Is Dad in trouble?”
I stopped cutting vegetables.
“What makes you think that?”
“Because everyone whispers.”
I dried my hands.
“Sometimes adults whisper because they think they are protecting kids.”
“Does it work?”
The question caught me.
“No.”
Leo nodded.
“I knew it.”
I sat beside him.
“Your dad is trying.”
Leo looked at the floor.
“I know.”
“You do?”
“He says sorry now.”
I blinked.
“What?”
Leo shrugged.
“Yesterday he dropped my cereal bowl.”
I smiled slightly.
“And?”
“He said sorry.”
“That’s good.”
Leo looked confused.
“He used to never say it.”
That small sentence said more than any dramatic confession could.
A parent apologizing was ordinary.
Unless you grew up without hearing it.
Then it was proof something had changed.
That evening, Dominic and Leo ate dinner together.
Halfway through the meal, Leo asked something.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Are you a bad person?”
The fork in my hand stopped moving.
The question landed harder than any accusation.
Dominic looked at his son.
A weaker man would have avoided it.
Changed the subject.
Found an easier answer.
Instead, Dominic took a breath.
“I have done bad things.”
Leo stared at him.
“Does that mean you’re bad?”
Dominic looked at me briefly.
Then back at his son.
“I don’t know.”
The honesty surprised everyone.
Especially Leo.
“But I know I’m trying to do better.”
Leo considered that.
“Okay.”
Again.
That simple.
That powerful.
Then he continued eating.
Children were strange.
Adults spent years demanding perfect explanations.
Children sometimes only needed effort.
Later that night, I found Dominic alone in the kitchen.
“You answered him honestly.”
“Yes.”
“Most parents would have avoided that.”
“I spent too long avoiding things.”
I leaned against the counter.
“Do you think he will forgive you?”
Dominic looked down.
“I don’t know if I deserve that.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
He looked at me.
For a moment, he looked younger.
Not young.
Just less protected.
“I hope he does.”
Before I could answer, Frank rushed into the kitchen.
His face was different.
Serious.
“Boss.”
Dominic immediately stood.
“What?”
Frank looked at me.
Then at Dominic.
“We found out who made the call.”
The air changed.
“Who?”
Frank hesitated.
And that hesitation told me the answer was personal.
“It was someone who used to work for Elena.”
Dominic went completely still.
“Name.”
Frank looked at him.
“Daniel Voss.”
I watched Dominic’s expression change.
Not fear.
Not anger.
Recognition.
And then something worse.
Regret.
Because whatever Daniel Voss was, he was not a stranger.
He was connected to the part of Dominic’s life he had spent years trying not to remember.
Because whatever Daniel Voss was, he was not a stranger.
He was part of the life Dominic had before.
May you like
Before Elena.
Before Leo learned to stop asking questions.
