I pressed my hand to my lips, my breath stuttering in short pants over my cold fingertips. First, Simon dismissed that pretty young girl without a second thought. Now…this heartfelt speech.

Philip looked down at me, where I’d settled in a chair behind the thick wooden beam. His eyes twinkled with a bit of the mischief I used to adore. But it was tempered by another emotion.

“He doesn’t know you’re here. He said that, did that, because he wanted to make the situation right.”

Jeremiah leaned his head against my shoulder, and I wrapped my arm around his neck. Though he wouldn’t like it, I pressed a kiss to his hair, which he tolerated because he must understand my need for closeness.

“I’ve always cared for you, Ella.”

Jeremiah raised his head, eyes narrowed, mouth set.

Philip smiled again, raising his hands to head off whatever Jeremiah wanted to say.

“But Simon adores you. Truly. Deeply. Just so you know, I’ve never felt that deep a connection with anyone.”

“I know.”

Philip smiled again, and that other emotion shone brighter. Regret. No, acceptance. Philip accepted that Simon loved me deeper, truer than he ever had—or could.

“You always were the smartest woman in any room, El Bel.” He leaned in and squeezed my fingers. “I hope you find every bit of love you deserve.”

Before Jeremiah blinked again, Philip leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, face impassive as he stared at Simon pouring out his heart.

I laid my head on the table as Simon began to play the song he wrote for me one day as we toured our way through Sonoma Valley. We honeymooned during Labor Day weekend, the days full of warm September sun, rich California cabernet, lovemaking, and song. We’d always sung together.

Simon hadn’t sung to me—only me—in over a year.

Jeremiah huffed out a breath that almost seemed like a sob. “He’s trying, Mom.”

“I hear that, son. And it’s more than a try. It’s a blood home run.”

I let the simple chords, the soft croon of Simon’s voice wash over me, soothing my abraded heart. This was what I’d missed: His making music for the emotion behind it. Because the song must find voice.

I glanced over at my father, who’d wrapped an arm around my mum. She rested her head against his shoulder, her fingers clutched over his.

They fought for their relationship. Thinking back, I couldn’t remember a time in my life when I didn’t feel love from my parents. For me, of course, but also for each other.

Rough patches happened, even in the best of relationships. Hadn’t I seen that before? Not just in my parents’ but in my colleagues, and in Lia’s and Asher’s.