Blake took a slow, agonizing step inside, instantly overwhelmed by a tidal wave of suffocating memories. He reached out and picked up a die-cast toy car from the pristine collection displayed on a floating shelf. It was virtually identical to the scuffed red one the twins had sold him in the park. Thomas had been absolutely obsessed with cars, too.
“Mr. Blake?”
Blake spun around sharply, his heart hammering in his throat. Lucas was standing nervously in the doorway, his blue eyes wide with a mix of intense curiosity and fearful uncertainty.
“You shouldn’t be in here,” Blake said, his voice coming out as a raw, broken rasp.
“I’m sorry,” Lucas whispered, taking a tiny step backward. “I heard the door open.” His sharp gaze slowly traveled around the colorful, perfectly preserved room, a profound understanding rapidly dawning on his young face. “This was your son’s room.”
Blake could only manage a stiff, jerky nod, entirely unable to force words past the massive lump in his throat.
“What was his name?” Lucas asked softly.
“Thomas.”
“Was he our age?”
“He would be now,” Blake choked out, staring down at the toy in his hand. “He was five when…” He physically couldn’t finish the brutal sentence.
Lucas stepped cautiously over the threshold, slowly approaching the silver frame resting on the nightstand. “You all look so happy.”
“We were.”
Lucas studied the smiling faces in the picture for a long moment, then slowly looked up at the towering billionaire. “My mom always says our dad watches over us from heaven. Maybe Thomas watches over you, too.”
The incredibly simple, devastatingly pure statement, delivered with absolute, unwavering childhood certainty, violently cracked something wide open inside Blake’s chest. He collapsed heavily onto the very edge of the small bed. The tidal wave of toxic emotions he had aggressively suppressed for half a decade finally shattered his dam, breaking through his defenses.
“I miss him,” Blake admitted, the wet, broken words barely audible in the quiet room. “Every single day.”
“We miss our dad too,” Lucas said, surprisingly climbing up to sit right beside the crying man on the spaceship comforter. “Mom says it’s totally okay to be sad sometimes, but we shouldn’t forget to be happy, too.”
From the open doorway came a sharp, tiny gasp. Zach was standing there in his pajamas, still looking a bit pale from his viral illness, his eyes bugging out at the sight of the forbidden room. Standing right behind him was Catherine. Her worried expression instantly softened into profound heartbreak as she took in the emotionally shattered scene before her.
“Boys, come away,” she said gently, reaching for Zach’s shoulder. “This is completely private.”
“It’s all right,” Blake found himself saying, scrubbing a hand over his wet face. “They can come in.”
Zach crept forward with extreme caution, examining the colorful bedroom with a quiet, respectful reverence. “Cool space lamp,” he observed softly, pointing a finger toward a faded, rocket-shaped nightlight plugged into the wall.
“Thomas was terribly afraid of the dark,” Blake explained. He was utterly shocked by how easily, how naturally the painful words were suddenly flowing from his mouth. “We bought that for him on his fifth birthday.”
Catherine remained anchored in the doorway, leaning against the frame. She watched in total silence as Blake slowly stood up and began showing the awestruck twins all of Thomas’s favorite, well-worn books and vintage toys. Every single object came with a specific, colorful story. The beautiful, agonizing memories that Blake had locked away in complete darkness were now flowing out of him freely, like water into the desert. The crushing pain was undeniably still there, burning in his chest, but somehow, sharing it with these people made it infinitely more bearable.
Hours later, long after the twins had been securely tucked back into their own beds, Catherine walked back down the hall. She found Blake still lingering in Thomas’s room, sitting quietly in the dark on the edge of the mattress.
“I’m so sorry they intruded,” she said softly, stepping into the room. “They are just naturally curious.”
“Don’t be,” Blake replied, staring at the silver frame. “It was past time to finally open this door.”
Catherine walked over and gently leaned against the edge of the bookshelf. “It’s a truly beautiful room. He must have been a wonderful little boy.”
“He was.” Blake slowly tilted his head up, meeting her compassionate gaze. “The accident was entirely my fault.”
The confession hung heavy in the air.
“I was driving,” Blake continued, his voice trembling violently. “A massive delivery truck ran a red light. I survived the impact. They didn’t.”
Catherine immediately crossed the small space and sat down closely beside him on the bed. “And that is exactly why you have aggressively isolated yourself for all these years. You are actively punishing yourself.”
The brutal, agonizing simplicity of her accurate assessment left him completely speechless.
“Survivor’s guilt is a terrible, crushing burden,” she continued, keeping her voice incredibly soft. “But living half a life in the shadows doesn’t honor their memory, Blake.”
Blake looked deep into her warm, steady eyes. For the very first time in five years, he genuinely felt like someone truly, completely saw him. She didn’t see the untouchable, ruthless CEO. She saw the shattered, bleeding man hiding beneath the perfect, expensive facade.
“I don’t know how to stop,” he confessed, the raw vulnerability terrifying him.
Catherine gently reached out, placing her warm hand directly over his cold one. “Maybe you’ve already started.”