Chapter Hundred And Three

Chapter Hundred And Three
Gabriel
Two years later
Dear Gabriel,
Two decades ago, I was a little girl who had been abandoned by her beloved father and I’d thought myself unworthy of anyone’s love, but you saw me, took your time to get to know me, and at the end of that day, I went back to the orphanage with the knowledge that I was worthy of being loved by someone.

Months ago, I thought I was returning home to get far away from the clutches of my ex-husband and I vowed never to get involved with any man, but I met you and you turned my life upside down. You made me happier than I had ever been in years and for that, I would be forever grateful to you.

I am sorry that I didn’t tell you I am the girl you have been waiting for and I didn’t even realize it until you told me about your story. I am sorry for leaving you and your daughter after I promised not to go, but I hope you can understand why I have to. Rafael is finally dead and I am free from him forever, thanks to your father.

I need to find myself again. I need to learn to love myself first before I can accept your love, Gabriel Cruz. You have every right to be mad at me for leaving and if you never forgive me… it will be fine. If you find someone else… it will be fine too.

You have held onto me for long enough, so it would only be fair if you found someone who would love you like you deserved and who would give you that family you have always wanted. I won’t say goodbye, but I won’t say “see you around” either, because I don’t know if we will ever meet again.

Yours sincerely,
Arian

I had lost count of how many times I had read that letter. It had been two years since I first received it, and yet, every word still felt as raw as the morning I unfolded that envelope with trembling hands. There were moments I told myself I should have burned it, that it was the only way to move on.

But every time I tried, something in me refused to let go. Maybe because that letter was all I had left of her.

“Are you reading her letter again, Daddy?” Kary’s small voice pulled me out of my thoughts as she climbed onto the sofa beside me in my home office.

“It’s been two years,” she reminded me with that matter-of-fact tone she’d inherited from her mother.

“I read her first letter every day for twenty-one years,” I said quietly. “Two years is nothing.”

Like that first letter, I had framed this one too—but instead of hiding them away like I used to, I displayed them on the glass shelf beside my recent award plaques.

I turned my head to look at my daughter, brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and gently patted her cheek. She just turned eight last month, tall for her age and far too wise for her years.

She had taken her mother’s death better than I’d ever expected. Not a single tear for Lucille. Maybe because she’d never known what it meant to be loved by her. But Arian’s departure… that had wounded her deeply. It had wounded me too, though I hid it better.

“You loved her very much,” Kary said, studying me the way Arian used to—eyes searching, soft but knowing. “That’s why you’ve refused to marry anyone else.”

“Yes,” I admitted.

“But she said she didn’t want to see you ever again,” she protested. “How can you still love her after everything you did for her? You almost died!”

Her words stung, though I’d heard them before—from friends, from family, from the part of me that still didn’t understand why Arian had left.

“I know that,” I replied.

“I can forgive her for breaking her promise to me,” Kary went on, voice rising, “but what I’ll never forgive is her leaving you while you were in a coma. She didn’t even wait to see you open your eyes before she decided to leave.”

I sighed, forcing a small, tired smile. “I don’t blame her for leaving, Kary. I made the decision to take that bullet for her. It’s what you do when you love someone.”

Even as I said it, I felt the ghost of that night—the sound of gunfire, her terrified face, the taste of blood in my mouth. I had chosen her life over mine without hesitation. Maybe that was love. Maybe it was madness.

“You’ll understand someday,” I added softly.

“I doubt it,” she huffed, crossing her arms. “If I ever fall in love with someone, I’ll do everything I can to stay with that person. Aunt Gabi was right about her.”

“Don’t talk bad about Arian, Kary,” I warned gently. “People make choices that hurt others, but sometimes, they’re just trying to save themselves. I made a choice to love her forever, and I’ll live with it—even if I never see her again.”

“I wanted her to be my mom,” Kary whispered. “She told me she loved me, but I guess it was all a ploy to get you. Lucille was a terrible mother, but at least she didn’t pretend to love me.”

“That’s enough, Kar,” I said firmly. “I know you’re angry, but don’t make this bigger than it should be.”

She stared at me, jaw tight. “Would you take her back if she came running back to you?”

“Yes,” I answered without hesitation. “No questions asked.”

Her face scrunched in disgust before she huffed and stormed out of the office.

I let out a long breath, rubbing the back of my neck. I understood her anger. Hell, I shared it sometimes. But I couldn’t hate Arian—not after everything. I had seen the way she trembled in her sleep, the haunted look in her eyes every time she thought no one was watching. She had been broken long before she met me, and all I’d tried to do was give her peace.

Rising from the couch, I walked over to the shelf and carefully set the framed letter beside the older one. I traced her handwriting with my thumb, a faint ache blooming in my chest.

Maybe she’s right, I thought. Maybe she really does need to find herself before she can ever find her way back to me.

I walked out of the office and headed for my room. Theresa came out carrying a basket of laundry, the door swinging open behind her.

“Theresa,” I called.

“Yes, sir?” she turned around quickly.

“I don’t want to bother you with more work, but… you’ve always helped me pack before every trip.”

She chuckled. “Say no more, Mr. Cruz. Let me drop this laundry off and I’ll get to it.”

“Thank you,” I said, exhaling quietly.

“Where are you traveling to this time?” she asked.

“Italy. Business meeting,” I replied. “Just three or four suits. The rest should be casual. I’ll be staying with my aunt Layla.”

“Very well, sir. What about Kareena?”

“Micah will drop her off at my parents’ after dinner,” I said. “So make it early.”

“Of course.” She smiled and left.

I turned toward the room, but before I could step in, Kary’s voice came from behind me.

“You’re leaving?” she asked, her tone soft now.

“It’s just for a week,” I told her.

“Can’t you let someone else go in your place?”

“Someone else has been going in my place for two years. I’m the CEO. It’s my turn,” I said, managing a faint smile.

“Fine,” she muttered. “Say hi to Aunt Layla, Uncle Carlos, and their kids for me.”

“Sure,” I said. “Maybe we’ll visit them for Christmas this year. What do you think?”

"Cool!" She beamed. "That's two months away. I can't wait."

"Go and pack your books together. Micah will take you to grandpa's house later after dinner."

"Okay!" She skipped back to her room, walked in and shut the door behind her.

As I watched her walk off, I couldn’t help but think that maybe one day, Arian would walk back into our lives too. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not next year. But someday.

And when she did—no questions asked—I’d be ready.

I entered my room and shut the door, then leaned against it with a long, tired sigh. Ever since Arian had left, sleep had become a stranger—nights stretched out hollow and loud, full of the space she used to occupy.

I missed her like a limb gone numb: constant, aching, impossible to ignore. Where was she? Was she safe? Was she thinking of me at all? The questions chased each other around my head until dawn.

I could have hired a private investigator the minute she disappeared. I had the means; I had the power to pull every thread and find her. But something in me had honored the space she’d asked for—fragile as that request had been. Maybe I was being noble, or maybe I was cowardly; the line between the two blurred more often than I liked to admit.

Two years had passed. Two years of waiting, of rehearsing sentences I couldn’t bring myself to send, of keeping her letters framed on the shelf as if proximity might stitch up the rift. Hope had become a steady, stubborn ember inside me—quiet, persistent.

I told myself I wasn’t angry anymore, only patient. Still, a part of me worried about the day I finally found her: would she be furious? Would she lock me out for abandoning her when she’d needed me most?

I pushed off the door and crossed the room, feeling both resolute and raw. I had loved her enough to take a bullet. That wasn’t something I could undo. If she punished me for it, I would accept it. But one certainty sat heavy and clear in my chest: sooner or later, I would find her.