He felt nervous.
He felt young.
He felt human.
Over several weeks of morning visits, he told her about himself, his company, his wealth, his family, and she listened without being impressed, which impressed him more than anything.
One morning he arrived looking heavier than usual, tired around the eyes, quieter than normal.
Monica noticed immediately.
“You look like a man carrying something he does not want to put down.
” she said.
He almost deflected, but something about the way she looked at him, direct, without judgement, made him speak honestly.
He told her about Lisa, about Owen, about everything he had done.
Not boasting, not justifying, just telling it the way a person tells a story they are no longer proud of.
He expected her to nod politely.
Instead, Monica set down the fruit in her hand very slowly.
“So, your sister,” she said carefully, “the one you say you love and want to protect, is she happy right now?” The question hit him like cold water.
“She will be.
” he said, “once she moves on.
” “That is not what I asked.
” Monica said quietly.
“I asked if she is happy right now.
” Desmond had no answer.
Monica stood up from her stool.
“You took away the one person who made her happy.
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