That final, hateful shove from Luciana had left Alan Moore hospitalized for over two weeks.

On the day of his discharge, his daughter, Charlotte, arrived with a bouquet of carnations. She sat by the edge of the bed, carefully peeling an apple, her eyes filled with a performative sort of weariness. "Dad, how are you feeling?"

Alan looked at her face, and a sharp, stinging bitterness welled up in his chest.

This was the daughter he had raised with his own two hands. He remembered her as a little girl, perched on his shoulders at the local Christmas festival, whispering promises that one day she would buy her father a massive house. He had hoped, even if Luciana had changed, that Charlotte might still possess a shred of humanity.

He reached out, trying to catch her hand. "Charlotte..."

Charlotte sighed, a soft, practiced sound, and shoved a slice of apple into his hand. "Dad, I know you feel wronged. But dragging this out like this—it isn't helping anyone."

"Just drop the police report," she continued, her voice cool and clinical. "Go and apologize to Killian. Mom is someone who responds to kindness, not force. If we just close the doors and move on, we can go back to how things were. Can’t you do that for us?"

Alan went rigid. His fingers, still gripping her hand, slowly went slack. "I won't."

Charlotte froze, her expression shifting from feigned pity to sharp, impatient irritation. "Dad, you’re nearly seventy. Is all this really necessary? Mom is a brilliant success, and Killian is her right-hand man—her equal. Can’t you just enjoy your golden years in peace?"

Alan didn’t speak. He just stared at her, silent and unblinking.

He could still recall the time right after Luciana had left, when Charlotte had fallen deathly ill. The neighbors had whispered behind his back, telling him to stop being a fool. They told him to give her up, to leave that broken family behind.

"What’s the point of spending a fortune on a girl?" they had goaded. "The money you save is enough to marry a new wife!"

That was the first time he had truly lost his temper. He had chased them off his porch with a blind, primal rage. When he returned to the house, he had hugged the terrified, sobbing Charlotte until his own eyes turned red. "I would sooner die than let anyone take you from me," he had whispered.

He had sold blood. He had hauled heavy crates on the docks until he coughed up bile, all to cover her medical bills. And now? Look at how polished Charlotte was. She had grown up healthy, finished her PhD last year, and had a future as bright as the sun. Yet, here she stood, firmly aligned with Luciana, looking at him with nothing but confusion. "Is all this really necessary?"

"Yes," Alan said softly. "It is."

Just as it had been necessary back when people laughed at him for pouring his life into "just a girl." To him, it was always necessary.

Seeing that he wouldn't budge, Charlotte grabbed her purse and stomped out in a huff.

Alan didn’t go home immediately. He fought through the dizziness of his concussion and went straight to get an official injury assessment. When he finally walked into the house, the living room was packed. It was filled with Luciana’s brightest protégés and junior associates. They stood in sharp suits, gathered around Luciana and Killian like congregants at an altar, their faces twisted with reverence.

Alan was about to head upstairs, but then he heard Luciana’s voice, resonant and formal, cutting through the chatter.

"I’m sure you’ve all heard about the recent turbulence," she said, resting a hand on the sofa. "Killian and I have spent thirty years operating in the shadows, fighting side by side. Our spirits have been unified for a long time."

"It is only a pity that by the time I truly met him, I was already trapped in that old, arranged marriage..." She let out a long, tragic sigh. "To honor his innocence and to rectify my own regrets, I plan to petition the board. When my time comes, I want to be buried under the same flag of honor as him. What do you think?"

Killian’s eyes shimmered with feigned tears, and Luciana gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

The students surrounding them were clearly moved. A chorus of approval rose from the room.

"Professor, your integrity is unparalleled. We support you completely!"

"Don't worry about a thing, Professor. If that man dares to harass you again, we’ll all act as witnesses to shut him down!"

Alan listened to the sickening display, the absurdity of it hitting him like a physical blow. He couldn't take it anymore. He pushed the door open and stepped into the light.

"And what about me?" he asked, his voice trembling. "What, exactly, does my thirty years of waiting count for?"