Chapter 23

The first light of dawn crept through the curtains, a soft gray that barely touched the shadows of the suite. Derek hadn’t slept. The journal lay open on the kitchen table, its pages fanned out like an accusation he couldn’t escape. Elena was still asleep, her breathing a faint hum in the distance, leaving him alone with the ghosts he’d tried to outrun. He’d resisted it all night, pacing the balcony, staring at the ocean until his eyes burned. But curiosity—or something darker—had finally pulled him back. He sank into a chair, fingers trembling as he turned to an entry dated three months before his father’s death. “Derek’s nine now,” his father’s slanted script read. “Caught him sneaking cookies before dinner—kid’s got a poker face I’d kill for. Maggie laughed so hard she cried. She’s been better lately, but I still see the cracks. I tell her we’re enough, the three of us. Hope she believes it.” Derek’s throat tightened. He remembered that day—the sticky sweetness on his fingers, his mother’s rare, unguarded smile.