Chapter 8 - A Promise Kept
Midnight had long since passed by the time Ethan unlocked the private penthouse door on the sixty-eighth floor. The sprawling apartment was completely dark, save for the soft, warm amber glow of a single designer lamp left burning in the hallway.
He walked quietly across the polished floor, loosening his tie as he went.
When he passed by the newly furnished guest suite, he noticed the door was cracked open just an inch. He pushed it open gently and peered inside.
Mrs. Margot was sound asleep in a comfortable armchair by the window, a light blanket draped over her shoulders. And in the center of a massive, oversized canopy bed, completely swallowed by expensive goose-down pillows, Lily was curled up fast asleep. Her breathing was soft and steady, and clutched tightly in her small hand was the dog-eared photograph of Rachel and a young Ethan smiling under the summer sun.
Ethan stepped silently into the room. He walked over to the bedside, knelt down, and gently pulled the velvet blanket up over Lily's shoulders.
She stirred slightly, murmuring something unintelligible in her sleep, and her small hand twitched, letting go of the photograph for a brief second. Ethan caught it before it hit the floor.
He looked down at the image of his younger self—the ghost of a man he used to be, full of passion, dreams, and unconditional love. For years, he had believed that wealth, power, and isolation were the ultimate shields against pain. He had built towers of steel to keep the world out, never realizing that all he had really done was lock himself inside a prison of his own design.
A gentle hand touched his shoulder.
Ethan looked up to see Mrs. Margot standing beside him, her tired eyes softening in the dim light.
"She has your eyes, you know," Margot whispered quietly so as not to wake the child. "And she has Rachel's spirit. You can't lock her away in a glass cage, Ethan. She needs to run, she needs to play, and she needs a father who is actually present."
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"I know," Ethan whispered back, his voice thick with emotion. "I won't make Rachel's mistake... and I won't make mine."
Margot gave his shoulder a firm, grounding squeeze. "Good. Because breakfast is at seven sharp, and I expect you to be at the table."
