Chapter 26

STEFAN'S POINT OF VIEW

The bourbon burned down my throat, a welcome fire against the cold emptiness spreading through my chest.I signaled the bartender for another. My fourth? Fifth? I'd lost count hours ago.

"You sure about that, buddy?" he asked, eyeing the empty glasses.

"Just pour the damn drink," I growled.

The alcohol couldn't drown the words that had haunted me all day: Martin Greene reading Camille's will, her final message cutting through me like a blade.

*"To my former husband, Stefan Rodriguez, I return the engagement ring that belonged to his grandmother,with the hope that next timne he gives it, it will be with honesty and true devotion."*②

The ring sat heavy in my pocket, retrieved from the safety deposit box this morning. Grandmother Rosa's ring. Three generations of Rodriguez women had worn it before I'd placed it on Camile's finger, promising forever with words that turned to ash in my mouth.

Thirty million dollars and the Cedar Hill estate. All of it to charity. Not a penny to her family. Nothing to Rose.Nothing to me. Everything to help girls who had no one else to turn to.

That was Camille. Always giving. Always thinking of others. Even in death.

My phone vibrated again. Rose. Her sixth call tonight. I silenced it without answering. Couldn't talk to her.Not after watching calculation rather than grief cross her face at the will reading. All she cared about was the money she wasn't getting.

Had I really left Camille for that? For someone who couldn't even fake proper sadness at her own sister's generosity?

The night air hit me like a slap as I stumbled out of the bar. I started walking, no destination in mind, until l found myself at Riverside Park, where Camille and I had spent countless Sunday afternoons during our first year together.

Before Rose came back from London. Before everything changed.

I sank onto a bench overlooking the water, the same river that had swallowed Camille's car. Her body never found. Just a shoe, months later. A single, waterlogged reminder of the woman I'd discarded.

From my pocket, I withdrew the ring box. The diamond caught what little light penetrated the park's darkness,winking at me like it knew all my secrets.

"I'm sorry," I whispered to thne night, to Camille's ghost. "I'm so damn sorry."

My phone buzzed. Rose again.

"Where are you?" Her voice sharp with irritation.

"Out."

"You're drunk. Come over. We need to talk about what happened today."

"No." The word felt strange in my mouth. Had I ever denied Rose anything before?

"She did it to spite us," Rose hissed. "To punish us from beyond the grave."

The laugh that escaped me sounded more lie a sob.that what you think? She was your sister, Rose.She loved you.Even after everything, she loved you."

I ended the call and turned off my phone. The alcohol had reached that treacherous plateau where emotions amplify rather than dull.

A memory surfaced: Camille on our first date, describing her dreams of working with disadvantaged youth."Everyone deserves a chance," she'd said, eyes bright with conviction. "Especially kids who start with nothing."

I'd nodded along, pretending her passion moved me when really I was just calculating how long until I could reasonably suggest we go back to my place. God, I'd been shallow then.Had I ever truly seen her?

The realization hit me with physical force. I'd left the one person who truly loved me for someone incapable of loving anyone but herself.

Dawn found me at the Rodriguez family mausoleum. Inside, I traced the engraved letters of Camille's memorial plaque, added despite my father's objections that she wasn't "blood."

"I got your message," I said to the empty air. "With the ring. You're right. I wasn't honest. Wasn't devoted.Never deserved you."

I sank to the cold floor, grandmother's ring clutched in my fist. "You gave everything to those girls. Never told anyone about your inheritance, just quietly planned how to use it to help others." My voice cracked."That's who you always were. And I threw you away for what? For Rose? For excitement?"

Hours later, I found myself outside the Lighthouse Foundation. Camille's charity. The organization she'd left her fortune to. Young women entered and exited, some with hard eyes and defensive postures, others with tentative hope.

Inside, I met Dr. Elena Reyes, the director. She showed me the plans for Cedar Hill - a sanctuary for foster girls, carefully designed under Camille's guidance before her death.

"She wanted to create somewhere these young women could find not just practical help but emotional safety," Dr. Reyes explained. "Many of them have never known what that feels like."

"I'd like to help," I heard myself say. "Financially. Professionally. However I can."

"May I ask why?"

The question stripped me bare. "Because it's what Camille wanted. Because it matters. Because maybe I can do one thing right, even if it's too late for her to see it."

Dr. Reyes studied me carefully. "Camille spoke often about second chances. About how everyone deserves the opportunity to become their best self. I think that included you, even at the end."

Outside again, my phone buzzed with messages from Rose and my father. The world I'd built, demanding I return to my place in it. For the first time in my privileged life, I faced a choice that actually mattered.

Return to the path I'd been walking, the path of least resistance, of shallow pleasures and empty achievements. The path that led to Rose, to becoming my father, to living and dying without ever touching what was real.

Or step off that smooth, well-lit road onto something unknown but meaningful. Something that honoredthe woman I'd discarded, the love I'd taken for granted.

I couldn't undo what I'd done to Camille. CouIdn't rewrite our ending. Couldn't deserve, even in death,the love she'd offered in life.

But maybe, just maybe, I could become someone who would have been worthy of her. Someone who gave instead of took. Someone who built instead of destroyed.

As I walked through the city that suddenly seemed full of possibilities I'd never considered, I made a silent promise to the woman I'd lost. The woman who, even in death, had shown me a better way to live.

I would become someone she could have been proud of. Someone who deserved the ring in my pocket.Someone who understood, finally,what mattered.

And I would start today.