Clara made her way to the old stone cabin, a place where their younger selves had once laughed and dreamed. A soft glow from the fireplace beckoned her inside.
Julian sat slumped in a worn armchair. A framed photograph, slightly faded, rested on the mantelpiece above him. It was a picture of them, six years ago, arms linked, smiling into the future.
He didn’t look up when she entered. His eyes were fixed on the dancing flames.
“Julian,” Clara said, her voice soft but firm. She held out Marcus’s ledgers. “I know about your firm. I know you’re broke.”
His head snapped up, a raw, wounded look on his face. The carefully constructed facade of anger and pride shattered.
He stared at the ledgers, then at Clara. His eyes welled with unshed tears.
“I never stopped loving you, Clara,” he choked out, his voice thick with emotion.
He covered his face with his hands, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
“My father,” he finally managed, his words broken. “He found out about us. Threatened to disown me. Cut off all funding for my business ventures.”
“He said a Croft couldn’t marry a nurse. Not a ‘proper match’ for the family name.”
Julian looked up, his face streaked with tears. “I chose the money. I chose the business. And I’ve regretted it every single day since.”
He stood, walking slowly toward her. “I was a coward, Clara. A fool.”
His hand reached out, brushing her arm. “This estate… it’s all I have left to prove I’m not him. Not my father. Not a failure.”
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