The Flower That Grew from Ashes novel Chapter 203

But now, she smiled so freely, so radiantly, her eyes full of light.

Then, he saw that tall man holding a glass, stepping right beside her.

The two stood shoulder to shoulder by the balcony railing.

The light cast their shadows onto the wall behind them, merging them into one.

They clinked glasses.

They were talking about something, and she tilted her head, responding with a brilliant smile.

Such close proximity, such natural ease.

It wasn't the passionate intimacy of lovers.

But that quiet, relaxed, trusting companionship carved into Hackett's heart, inch by inch, like a dull blade.

He would rather they be a passionately in-love couple.

He would rather see them embrace, kiss, or tangle together.

A sight like that would hurt him, but it would be a sharp, enraging pain.

But this peaceful companionship, this absolute certainty of "I'm right here beside you," filled him with far more despair than any passionate romance ever could.

Because he finally understood.

She didn't need a tumultuous, explosive love.

What she needed was someone to stand quietly by her side.

When she talked about flowers, that person would talk about architecture.

When she needed a blueprint, that person would stay up all night to draw it for her.

When she walked into a rainstorm, that person would silently step half a pace closer to her, blocking the wind.

And Hackett couldn't give her a single one of those things.

He could give her the most expensive flowers in the city, but he never asked if she even liked them.

He could clear the Sargent family's debts, but he had coldly tried to take her child away from her on an operating table.

Three years after she left, he could stand in the rain, catch a fever, and throw money at an entire building.

But none of it could make her look back at him.

The wind grew stronger.

The laughter from upstairs drifted down in broken pieces.

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