The study was plunged into silence. Neither man spoke for a long time. Anthony sat frozen, as if time itself had stopped for him. His hands trembled, his throat was dry, and tears streamed down his cheeks in quiet, steady lines.
He was experiencing a storm of emotions… grief, disbelief, guilt, and a faint, dangerous flicker of hope.
For years, Anthony had lived with the unbearable guilt that his father had killed Joan because of him. He had never forgiven himself for loving her so openly, so passionately, in a world that devoured vulnerabilities and punished emotions. Deep down, he believed that if he hadn't loved Joan, she might have lived. That if he hadn't defied his father, she might not have become a target.
After Joan's supposed death, he had been inconsolable. He accused his father directly… fury exploding out of him like lava. His father denied everything, of course. But Anthony hadn't believed a word. He couldn't believe. Not after losing the love of his life.
