Chapter 10
Arthur did not flinch at the accusation. He knew every word she spoke was true. For decades, he had traded human connection for corporate expansion, believing that providing financial security was the same thing as providing a home. He looked at the peeling paint of the apartment building, the rusted fire escapes, and the sad piles of belongings stacked on the curb. This was the collateral damage of his ambition.
"You're right," Arthur said quietly.
Sarah blinked, her defensive posture freezing mid-motion. She had expected denials, justifications, or a cold lecture on the realities of the free market—anything other than a flat, unconditional admission of guilt.
"You're not going to argue?" she asked, her voice dropping its edge, replaced by a deep, tired suspicion. "You're not going to tell me about market value, zoning laws, or the necessity of urban renewal?"
"No," Arthur replied, taking one slow step closer. He kept his hands at his sides, open and empty. "For fifteen years, I told myself that your absence was your choice. I told myself that you were proud, stubborn, and unyielding—that you wanted to live in the real world, so I let you stay there. I watched from a distance through private reports, making sure you didn't starve, but never once lowering my guard enough to pick up the phone."
Sarah’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, though she blinked them back furiously, refusing to let him see her break down. "I didn't want your money, Arthur. I didn't want your protection. I wanted a father who cared more about people than he cared about the bottom line. When Mom died, you didn't even shed a tear at her funeral—you were on the phone with Tokyo finalizing a steel merger before the casket was even lowered into the ground. That was the day I knew I had to leave."
May you like
The words hit Arthur like a physical blow. The memory of that rainy afternoon at the cemetery flashed across his mind—the black umbrella, the damp soil, and the cold hum of his phone vibrating against his breast pocket. He had justified it as dedication, as strength. Looking at Sarah now, he saw it for what it truly was: cowardice. He had used work as an anesthetic to avoid feeling the grief of losing his wife, and in the process, he had lost his daughter as well.
"I know," Arthur whispered, the syllables catching in his throat. "I buried myself in work because I didn't know how to survive the silence in that big house. But the silence I built around myself was nothing compared to the emptiness I caused you."
