[ELARA'S POV]
Julian left instructions. The lawyer from London sent them three days after Julian died. A will. Specific requests. Everything organized because Julian had known exactly how much time he had left.
He wanted to be buried in New York. Next to where Damian would eventually be. Brothers together even in death.
He wanted a small funeral. Just family. No press. No spectacle.
And he wanted Damian to have his mother's letters. Forty-three years of them. Every birthday. Every Christmas. Letters Elizabeth had written to the son who would never know his father.
They arrived in a box. Plain cardboard. The lawyer's firm had been holding them. Now they sat on Damian's desk unopened.
He couldn't touch them. Couldn't even look at them without his jaw going rigid. Muscles jumping like he was grinding his teeth to powder.
I didn't push. Grief had its own timeline. He'd open them when he was ready.
The funeral was on a gray Tuesday in late October.
