my old rooms, the ones fil
he'd given, photographs of u
acken. It wasn't just about Ethan; it was about purging the ghost o
sincere poetry, the expens
m Marc years ago, something I'd kept hidden away, s
atched me, her expression a
Ms. Montoya,"
He thinks this is all some
e laced with uncharacteristic anger. "He t
"promised" to him, things my grandfather had supposedly of
lt with that swif
ts my things? My heritage?" I'd seethed to Ma
rently flown into a defensive rage, denying everything, then tryin
him," I said to Maria, shaking my head at the sheer audacity
om my first engagement party. His smile was p
me on the hearth,
d the photo i
e," I w
arity luncheon. He looked disheveled, his u
riously. That Vance fellow
s no 'us
're angry. I messed up. But
echoes of a past I was
give you, Ethan. Th
m standing there, his fac
for Ethan. But for the years I'd wasted, the trust I'd misplaced. I cried
h. Just held my hand, his presence a silen
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