The words hit him harder than anything he had expected.
“You should have told me,” he said.
“I tried,” Lena replied. “Your assistant… he turned me away. Said you didn’t want to be contacted. That you had moved on.”
Ethan’s expression darkened.
He knew exactly who she meant.
His former assistant—fired years ago for “handling things too independently.”
“What happened?” he asked quietly.
Lena hesitated, then answered.
“I was diagnosed shortly after I left,” she said. “I didn’t want to tie you to… this. You had a life. A future.”
“So you decided for me?” Ethan’s voice broke slightly.
“I thought I was protecting you,” she whispered.
Silence filled the room.
Mia shifted her weight, still holding the wilted flowers.
“I help Mom,” she said softly, as if explaining everything.
Ethan looked at her.
Really looked this time.
The same eyes.
The same quiet strength.
His daughter.
And she had been standing at traffic lights, selling flowers in the rain.
Something inside him cracked.
The twist came not with a revelation—but with a choice.
Lena’s condition was worse than she had admitted.
There wasn’t much time.
Over the following weeks, Ethan did something he had never done before.
He stepped away from everything.