“I do. It was the hardest part of learning—the suffering humanity had endured over the centuries. But it makes all of this so important. The remembering. The realization that these people in this photo weren’t just people riding a train one day in history. Each of them had their own stories, their own lives. And it’s our job to remember them.”

“Who are you?” I said in awe.

“Sorry,” she said, red tingeing her cheeks. “I geek out a bit when it comes to history.”

“Don’t apologize, Cara. Don’t ever apologize for something you’re passionate about. If I had one ounce of your passion for the work I did…” I trailed off, unwilling to finish the thought.

“You don’t like what you do?”

I turned away with a sigh, the sound of my shoes sliding awkwardly against the stone tiles, as if they weren’t built for the modern rubber soles I possessed.

“It doesn’t matter whether I do or don’t. It’s mine. My name is on the damn building. It’s not like I can just walk in one day and say, You know what? I think I’m going to try out pilot school for a while. Later.”

“Do you want to be a pilot?” she asked in confusion.

“No. I mean, hell, I don’t know. I’ve never even been asked that question,” I answered, turning back toward her.

Her mouth gaped open in shock. “No one has ever asked you what you wanted to do with your own life, Roman?”

I shook my head. “My life was already planned out for me before I was born, Cara. It was just a matter of whether I was smart enough to be in charge or not. My father needed someone to pass the company down to. That was supposed to be Jude. But, as you put it, life happened—the good, the bad—and he walked away. By the time I got him to return, his heart wasn’t in it anymore, and our father was gone. So, I stepped up. I became the chosen one my father didn’t trust I could be. And I’ve been proving him wrong every day since.”

“But you hate it.” She didn’t bother asking. She knew.

“I like knowing I’m keeping people employed, knowing I’m putting food on their tables and helping to pay for their kids ballet lessons and soccer uniforms. But getting up every day? Going to work? It’s a nightmare. I fucking hate it.”

It was the first time I’d said the words out loud. They’d echoed in my head for years as the hours and days dragged on in that lonely dark office my father had once occupied. But I’d never said it. I’d never admitted it to another person. And doing so felt like a forty-ton weight had been lifted off my shoulders.