Alexander opened the nightstand and pulled out a box. A small Tiffany-blue box.
He had been carrying it with him for a decade.
For a moment, he simply held it, his thumb brushing over the edge as though grounding himself before what came next. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than before, stripped of its usual ease.
"A week before we broke up…"
Roxana didn't turn. Not immediately. She stayed where she was, as if she had no interest in what he was about to say, but her fingers betrayed her, clutching the edge of the shirt she wore, twisting the fabric unconsciously.
For someone who had just dismissed him so sharply, she hadn't even bothered to button it, the loose collar slipping off her shoulder as she listened despite herself.
"I went to meet your father," Alexander continued, his gaze resting on her back, steady, patient. "With this."
There was a pause.
Then… there was a soft click. The unmistakable sound of a small box opening.
That was all it took.
