Chương 8
Or the next morning.
Not because I wanted to punish him.
Because I wanted to know what it felt like to make a decision without immediately considering how someone else would react.
It was an unfamiliar feeling.
Almost uncomfortable.
For most of my life, my first instinct had been to repair.
A broken relationship.
A hurt feeling.
A misunderstanding.
A silence.
I had spent years carrying emotional tools around like a person carrying a first-aid kit everywhere they went.
The problem was that sometimes I was the only person using them.
Nobody else learned how to stop causing the injuries.
Three days passed before I responded to Greg.
I kept the message short.
I agreed to meet.
But I chose the location.
Not the farmhouse.
Not the stone house.
A small coffee shop in town where people came and went all morning.
Somewhere public.
Somewhere neither of us could pretend the conversation had not happened.
When I arrived, Greg was already there.
He had chosen a table near the window.
Of course he had.
He liked seeing what was happening around him.
He stood when I approached.
I did not hug him.
His hand hovered for a moment before he lowered it.
“Thanks for meeting me.”
I sat down.
“You wanted to talk.”
“Yes.”
He looked older than he had a week earlier.
Not much.
But enough.
Stress had a way of adding years quickly.
A server came by.
I ordered coffee.
Greg ordered sparkling water.
Small details.
Normal details.
That was the strange part.
Two people could sit across from each other in a quiet café while discussing the collapse of trust between them.
The world did not announce the importance of the moment.
It just continued.
“I think things got out of control,” Greg said.
I looked at him.
“That is an interesting way to describe it.”
“What do you mean?”
“You make it sound like something happened by accident.”
He leaned back.
“Andrea, I never intended to hurt you.”
“I believe that.”
His expression softened.
“Thank you.”
I lifted my coffee.
“But intentions are not the only thing that matter.”
He looked away.
“I know you’re angry.”
“I am disappointed.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it is true.”
He rubbed his fingers against the glass.
“I think you misunderstood my goals.”
“Did I?”
“Yes.”
He spoke more quickly now.
“The vineyard has incredible value.”
“I know.”
“You built something rare.”
I waited.
“But?”
He sighed.
“But I think you became too emotionally attached to it.”
There it was.
The sentence he had been building toward.
I placed my cup down.
“Emotionally attached.”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“I mean that respectfully.”
“No, you don’t.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“What?”
“You mean it strategically.”
He was quiet.
I continued.
“You see land.”
He looked uncomfortable.
“You see revenue.”
I leaned forward slightly.
“I see the place where my husband spent his last healthy years.”
His face changed.
Only briefly.
Then he recovered.
“I respect that.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you make plans without asking me?”
He looked down.
“I was exploring possibilities.”
“With my property.”
“With our future.”
I stared at him.
“That word again.”
“What word?”
“Our.”
He frowned.
“You are my daughter’s husband.”
“Almost.”
“Fine.”
I corrected myself.
“You are my daughter’s fiancé.”
He nodded.
“But you are not my business partner.”
“I never said I was.”
“You acted like it.”
The server brought my coffee.
She placed it between us and walked away.
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then Greg said,
“You have to understand where I’m coming from.”
“I have spent a week trying to do exactly that.”
“And?”
“And I understand you wanted more.”
He nodded.
“That’s not wrong.”
“No.”
I agreed.
“Wanting more is not wrong.”
His shoulders relaxed slightly.
“But believing you are entitled to what someone else built is.”
The relaxation disappeared.
“I don’t feel entitled.”
“Then why did you move forward without permission?”
He did not answer.
That was the first time I saw something I had not seen before.
Not confidence.
Not arrogance.
Fear.
Small.
Hidden.
But real.
“I wanted to prove myself,” he said quietly.
The honesty surprised me.
I said nothing.
He looked out the window.
“My entire life, I’ve watched people with money make decisions and call it vision.”
He swallowed.
“I wanted to be the person who had the vision.”
I studied him.
For a moment, I almost felt sympathy.
Almost.
Because understanding someone’s wound does not erase the damage they cause.
“What did you think would happen?”
He looked back at me.
“I thought you would see the opportunity.”
“And if I didn’t?”
His silence answered.
That was the missing piece.
He had never planned for my refusal.
In his mind, my agreement was part of the process.
Not a choice.
“I need you to understand something, Greg.”
“Okay.”
“You are allowed to have dreams.”
He nodded.
“But you are not allowed to build those dreams on top of someone else’s life without asking.”
He looked down.
“I know.”
I did not believe him.
Not completely.
But I believed he was finally hearing it.
The conversation ended forty minutes later.
No shouting.
No dramatic apology.
No miracle.
Just two people sitting across from each other with a truth neither could avoid anymore.
Before he left, he stopped beside my chair.
“Are you really canceling the wedding?”
I looked up.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether the wedding is about Samantha and you.”
He waited.
“Or whether it is about everything you wanted people to see.”
His face tightened.
“I love her.”
“I hope you do.”
The same words I had told Samantha.
He nodded slowly.
Then he walked away.
That evening, Samantha came to the vineyard again.
This time, she did not ask to come inside.
She stood near the porch steps.
“I talked to Greg.”
I nodded.
“How did that go?”
She looked tired.
“Not how I expected.”
I sat in the porch chair.
May you like
“What did you expect?”
She looked down.
