Chapter 23 The Man She Loved Most
Michael snapped out of his thoughts, his gaze drifting back to the three people at the table.
Mason was eating heartily; the boy was clearly starving after a full day of classes.
Nathan didn’t eat much. Instead, he kept quietly moving dishes closer to Mason. Seeing the boy eat so hastily, Nathan ladled a bowl of hot soup and handed it to him. “Slow down. Have some soup,” he said softly.
Without setting down his knife and fork, Mason took a quick sip directly from the bowl and winced. “It’s too hot.”
Nathan immediately took the bowl back. He picked up a ceramic spoon and began slowly stirring the broth, waiting for the steam to subside before pressing it back into the boy’s hands.
Mason took it with an easy grin and drank it all in one go.
Chloe ate in complete silence, her head bowed, occasionally stealing glances at Mason. She couldn’t help the intrusive, torturous thought creeping into her mind: What would our child have looked like?
Would he have been as well-mannered and cheerful as this boy?
Chloe forced a bitter smile and shook her head. Thinking about it was completely pointless now.
Michael ordered a bottle of wine and poured Chloe a glass.
Nathan watched the dark liquid rise. The moment the glass was half full, he reached out and tapped the table. “That’s enough.”
Michael stopped immediately, setting the bottle down without a word. He raised his own glass to Chloe. “Cheers.”
She clinked her glass against his, then tilted her head back and drank the entire thing in a single, aggressive gulp.
Nathan frowned deeply. He clearly wanted to say something, but he swallowed the words, only shooting Michael a dark look filled with sharp disapproval.
Reading the room, Michael didn’t offer Chloe a second glass, opting to finish the rest of the bottle himself.
Conversation was sparse for the rest of the meal, and since Mason needed to hurry back for an evening class, they finished quickly.
Less than half an hour later, the four of them stood outside the restaurant in the freezing air.
Nathan turned to Chloe. “Get in the car. I’ll drop Mason off at the prep school first, and then I’ll take you home.”
Chloe looked at him. Her expression was heavy, her voice deliberately muffled. “No need. I can get back on my own.”
“You don’t know the way,” Nathan said, his brow creasing.
“That’s exactly why I need to learn it,” Chloe replied stubbornly. “I can’t always depend on you.”
Nathan watched her in silence. Chloe crossed her arms, firmly rooting herself to the pavement.
From the back seat of the Bentley, Mason looked out the window at them with open curiosity.
Michael sensed the heavy, suffocating tension between them and stepped forward. “I’ll take her,” he offered smoothly.
Nathan shot him a sharp glance.
Michael just smiled. “Don’t worry, Mr. Archer. I’ll make sure she gets to her door safely.”
Nathan looked back at Chloe, who was actively refusing to meet his eyes. “I’ll come check on you later,” he said softly.
“No need,” Chloe finally said, lifting her head to meet his gaze. “You should just go home. Your family needs you.”
Nathan clenched his fists. He took a half-step forward, his mouth opening to say something, but Mason’s voice drifted out from the car.
“Dad! Hurry up! I’m going to be late!”
Nathan halted. He glanced back at the car, then looked at Chloe. After a few agonizing seconds of hesitation, he turned and got into the driver’s seat.
As the heavy engine purred to life, Nathan rolled down his window and looked at Chloe one last time. “Call me the second you get inside.”
“Okay,” Chloe murmured softly, bowing her head again.
“Thank you, Michael,” Nathan added.
“You’re too kind,” Michael replied.
Nathan gave Chloe one last, lingering look before pulling away from the curb.
Only when the taillights disappeared into the traffic did Chloe finally lift her head. The tears she had been violently suppressing all night spilled over her lashes.
“Don’t cry,” Michael remarked dryly, standing beside her. “I’m terrible at comforting people.”
“Who asked for your comfort?” Chloe snapped, her face already slick with tears. she scrubbed at her eyes furiously with her sleeve.
“But you should cry. A man that wonderful, just handed over to some other woman for no reason.” Michael fiddled with his keys and unlocked his car. “If it were me, I’d cry too.”
“Shut up! What do you know about it?” Chloe practically yelled, her voice thick with irritation and grief.
“More than you do, apparently.” Michael walked to the passenger side and opened the door for her. “Get in.”
Chloe scowled, but she climbed inside. Once Michael started the engine and pulled onto the road, she turned to him. “What exactly do you think you know?”
“I know about Nathan,” Michael said softly, keeping his eyes on the road. “He was the most deeply affectionate, broken man I have ever known.”
He gripped the steering wheel. “Even though he has a son now… the love he had for you back then moved even me. When I was a kid, I used to wonder if I would ever be capable of loving someone like that.”
Michael let out a low, wry chuckle. “Later, I realized it’s impossible. I could never do it. If a woman vanished on me, I wouldn’t wait a single day, let alone ten or twenty years.”
“But he didn’t wait for me either,” Chloe said, her voice breaking into a sob. “He moved on.”
“At least he tried to wait,” Michael replied slowly.
And then, as they drove through the dark city, Michael began to recount the Nathan he remembered most vividly. He told her about the kind, desperate, melancholic young man who visited an empty house year after year, refusing to give up hope. He told her about the man standing alone in a blizzard, asking a teenager how to stop loving a ghost.
By the time Michael pulled up to Chloe’s apartment building, she was utterly distraught.
She got out of the car sobbing uncontrollably, her face completely smeared with tears. She was the saddest, most broken woman Michael had ever seen, yet there was something strangely grounding about her grief.
Her raw, unhidden wailing softened the resentment that had been calcifying in his own heart for so many years.
Truthfully, they were all pitiful.
Perhaps the past twenty-three years had belonged to the people left behind, forcing them to endure the agonizing wait. But the next twenty years belonged to the ones who had just returned—the ones who would have to drown in the regret of everything they had lost in a single second.
They would cry themselves to sleep for countless nights. Just like Chloe.
Michael didn’t know why, but as he watched her walk into the building, his own eyes stung fiercely.
He blinked hard, took a deep breath, and drove home.
When he stepped out of the elevator on his floor, he stopped dead.
The cheap, insulated lunchbox was sitting directly in front of his apartment door.
Michael stared at it. His jaw tightened. He walked forward, casually kicked it aside with his dress shoe, unlocked his door, and went inside.
The apartment was pitch black.
He flipped the switch, flooding the sterile, expensive living room with light. He stood in the entryway in total silence for what felt like an eternity.
Then, he turned around, walked back out into the hallway, and stared at the dented lunchbox.
After a long pause, he bent down, picked it up, and carried it inside.
He set it on his kitchen island. Very methodically, he unwrapped the cloth cover and unscrewed the lid.
Inside was a massive portion of cheap steak, cooked well-done, slathered in dark gravy. Exactly the way it had been twenty-three years ago.
Michael stared at it. He didn’t get a fork. He simply reached in with his bare hand, grabbed a piece of the cold meat, and shoved it into his mouth. He chewed twice, then grabbed another piece.
Mid-chew, his chest hitched violently. He raised a hand to cover his eyes and began to sob.
He cried until he couldn’t breathe, choking on the cold meat. After a long while, he sniffed hard, wiped his eyes, screwed the lid back onto the insulated box, and threw the entire thing into the trash can with a loud clang.
This belated, pathetic affection—he didn’t need it anymore.
He had sworn he would never forgive his father. And he wouldn’t.
Chloe cried herself completely empty. She spent the entire night sitting on the wide windowsill of her bedroom, staring blankly out at the dark city until the sky finally began to turn a bruised, pale grey.
Just after dawn, she heard the faint click of the front door unlocking.
Soft footsteps moved through the apartment, stopping outside her bedroom. The door opened a crack.
Nathan peeked inside, instantly startling when he saw her sitting awake by the window.
“You’re up early,” he said softly, stepping inside.
“So are you,” Chloe replied. Her voice was wrecked, little more than a hoarse rasp.
“I have to take Mason to school,” Nathan said, watching her carefully. “I brought some breakfast. Do you want to eat?”
“Sure.”
At that moment, Chloe couldn’t bear to refuse anything he asked of her.
She climbed down from the sill and followed him into the kitchen.
He had brought plain croissants and coffee. He poured her a cup, then immediately turned to the stove, cracking two eggs into a pan to scramble them for her.
Chloe sat at the island, wrapping her cold hands around the mug. She watched his fluid, practiced movements.
“You really know how to do all the housework now,” she murmured.
Nathan smiled faintly, keeping his eyes on the pan. “At my age, how could I not know how to cook a few eggs?”
Chloe didn’t respond. She lowered her head and took a slow sip of coffee.
If I had stayed with him, she thought, I never would have let him learn.
She would have taken such meticulous care of him. If he had acted spoiled or helpless, she would have happily banned him from the kitchen. In her heart, his long, elegant fingers had always belonged to science and to her—she had wanted to hold them, cherish them, and protect them from menial chores.
She had always imagined that by the time they reached this age, she would have made him so hopelessly dependent on her that he wouldn't even know how to boil water. They would have grown old together, their hair turning white side by side.
But now, he could do everything perfectly.
In the years she had missed, in the life she had been completely violently erased from, another woman had shaped him into this capable, domestic father.
Nathan scooped the soft, steaming eggs onto a plate and set them in front of her. “Eat up. I’ll drive you to work after I drop off Mason.”
“Thanks,” Chloe whispered. She picked up a fork and took a bite. The eggs were perfect—tender, buttery, not burnt at all. “These are really good.”
Hearing her praise, Nathan’s eyes softened completely. “Then I’ll make them for you often.”
Chloe hesitated. Then, very slowly, she nodded.
Ever since Michael had told her the truth in the car—ever since she realized exactly how many years Nathan had spent standing in the snow waiting for her—the bitter, suffocating anger in her chest had broken into pure sorrow.
Looking at the man standing in her kitchen, she finally let the resentment go. She suddenly, entirely forgave him.
Yes, he had moved on. Yes, he had a new family, a new wife, and a child.
But he was still Nathan. He was still the man she loved most in the world, her first and only love, the husband to whom she had entrusted her entire soul.