Chapter 35: Jeremiah

Rain fell in a steady, unbroken curtain over the cemetery, beginning as a soft drizzle before gathering weight, as though the sky itself had reached its limit and finally surrendered to grief. The clouds hung low and heavy, muting the world into shades of gray, while the softened earth yielded beneath every step. Across the hillside, black umbrellas clustered together, merging into a single silhouette of mourning that swayed gently with the wind.

Conrad Howard's funeral had drawn far more people than anyone had anticipated. Friends stood shoulder to shoulder with strangers, united by the same quiet ache. Fellow idols and performers—people who had once shared the stage with him, who had known the brilliance of his presence firsthand—stood in solemn stillness, their usual radiance dimmed beneath dark attire. Beyond them, fans gathered in overwhelming numbers, some clutching flowers, others holding photographs or small tokens of devotion. A few wept openly, unable to contain the sorrow that had been building since the news broke. Others simply stared ahead, as if their minds could not reconcile that the man who had once burned so brightly before them was now gone.

At the center of it all, the casket descended slowly into the waiting earth.

Magali stood closest, unmoving. Her expression was pale and distant, as though the world around her had blurred into something she could no longer fully perceive. One hand rested lightly over her stomach, her fingertips brushing the quiet life growing within her. It was the only thing anchoring her now—the fragile reminder that even as one chapter had ended, another waited to begin. Yet that truth offered little comfort. The weight of what she had lost pressed against her with a clarity that felt almost unbearable.

Beside her, Roberta held an umbrella above her, shielding her from the rain. She remained silent, her presence steady and respectful, offering Magali the space to grieve in her own way. There were no words capable of easing this kind of pain, no gesture that could fill the void Conrad had left behind. All she could do was stand with her, a quiet witness to a sorrow too deep for language.

As the casket disappeared into the earth, a heavy stillness settled over the crowd—a finality so absolute it seemed to press against the skin. The rain continued its steady descent, softening only slightly, as though reluctant to release the sorrow it carried. When the last prayer faded into the damp air and the downpour eased into a gentle drizzle, people began to drift away in slow, hesitant steps. One by one, those closest to Conrad approached Magali, drawn not only by grief but by the instinctive need to offer something—comfort, presence, or simply acknowledgment—to the woman he had left behind.

Ryu was the first to reach her. He walked with deliberate care, Tarlya resting in his arms, her small body shifting as he lowered her to the ground. She wobbled on unsteady feet, still learning the rhythm of balance, her wide eyes taking in the unfamiliar scene with quiet curiosity. There was a fragile innocence in her movements, a soft glow of life that stood in stark contrast to the sorrow that blanketed the cemetery.

Ryu stepped forward and pulled Magali into a firm, grounding embrace. "You won't go through this alone," he murmured. "Whatever you need… I'll be there."

His voice carried the weight of a promise forged not out of obligation, but out of genuine devotion. Beside him, Tarlya reached out with clumsy little hands, sensing the heaviness around her even if she could not understand it. Her small gesture, simple and unfiltered, brushed against Magali's grief like a faint breath of warmth.

After Ryu stepped back, Valefor and Hanzo approached together, their steps measured and respectful. Hailey followed a short distance behind, but she remained quiet, allowing Hanzo and her husband to speak on her behalf since she had never known Magali personally. Their usual composure remained intact, but there was a gentleness in their expressions that softened the sharp lines of their features.

"We will watch over you," Hanzo said, his tone steady and unwavering. "You and your child will not be left unprotected."

Valefor offered a small nod, his silence carrying its own quiet strength. In moments like this, words were secondary to presence.

Then came the others. Some were familiar faces—friends, colleagues, and performers who had shared stages, memories, and fleeting moments of joy with Conrad and Magali alike. Others were strangers to her, yet spoke of Conrad with such warmth and sincerity that it felt as though she had known them all along. Each offered condolences in their own way: a bowed head, a trembling hand placed over hers, a whispered sentiment carried away by the rain. Even Seasons approached, her steps hesitant but determined. Their past differences lingered unspoken between them, but in this moment, none of it mattered. She embraced Magali gently, offering silent support where words might have faltered. And yet… something was missing.

As the last of the mourners began to disperse, Magali found her gaze drifting across the thinning crowd, searching without fully realizing it. There was one face she expected to see—one presence that should have been impossible to overlook. Jeremiah, Conrad's father was nowhere to be found.

A faint unease threaded through her grief, settling coldly in her chest. To her knowledge, there had never been distance between Conrad and his father—no whispered stories of conflict, no signs of estrangement. And yet, he had been absent on their wedding day. And now, on the day his son was laid to rest… he was absent again.

Magali lowered her gaze, her hand instinctively resting against her stomach once more. For the first time since the funeral began, a new question formed in her mind—one that lingered quietly, waiting for answers she didn't yet have. Perhaps… there was more to Conrad's past than she had ever known.

The days that followed slipped past in a muted haze, each one blending into the next with no clear beginning or end. Magali moved through them as though drifting underwater, her steps slow, her thoughts distant, her purpose lost somewhere she could no longer reach. The house felt impossibly large now, every room echoing with memories she wasn't ready to face, every silence reminding her of the voice that would never fill it again. Meals came and went untouched until she forced herself to eat—not for her own sake, but for the child growing inside her. A faint curve had begun to show beneath her clothes, small but undeniable, a quiet reminder that something still depended on her. It was the only thread keeping her tethered to the world.

She sat at the kitchen table, slowly nibbling on carrots and celery, her movements mechanical and devoid of appetite. The crunch of each bite seemed unnaturally loud in the stillness, as though the house itself was listening. Across the room, Roberta watched her with a careful, measured patience before stepping forward.

"The Council has requested your presence," she said gently. "They would like to see you in the chamber."

Magali nodded without question. She had no energy left to resist, no curiosity to wonder why. Rising slowly, she followed Roberta out to the car, her steps deliberate, her breath steady only because it had to be. The ride unfolded in silence as the city passed by outside the window.

Life hadn't stopped. People still filled the streets, their laughter and conversations weaving through the air as if nothing had changed. Idols walked among their fans, smiling and waving, their presence bringing light to a world that continued to move forward without hesitation. It should have been comforting—proof that the city endured, that joy still existed somewhere. Instead, it made her feel small. Insignificant.

The joy that once defined idol culture now felt distant, hollow, like a memory she could no longer touch. What had once been passion and purpose now looked like routine, like obligation. Performers smiled because they had to. They danced because it was expected. And when they were gone… someone else would step forward to take their place.

Magali lowered her gaze, her reflection faint in the glass. For the first time, she wondered if that was all any of them had ever been. Replaceable.

Inside the Council chamber, the air felt colder than usual, as though the walls themselves had absorbed the weight of recent events. The eleven members sat in their familiar semicircle, their presence as imposing as ever, yet softened now by a subdued solemnity. Magali stood before them, her gaze drifting—unintentionally—toward the empty twelfth seat. Virgo's absence loomed larger than it ever had before, a silent reminder of everything that had unraveled, of truths still buried beneath layers of secrecy and loss.

Scorpio cleared his throat, drawing her attention back to the present. "The reason you have been summoned," he began, his voice measured and steady, "is because Conrad Howard's Memorial Drive has been completed."

At his signal, he handed two small drives to Roberta. She stepped forward and placed them gently into Magali's hands. They were identical—small, unassuming, yet heavier than anything she had ever held. Her fingers curled around them instinctively, but confusion flickered across her expression.

She looked up. "Why are there two?" she asked softly. "I thought families only received one."

Scorpio nodded. "That is correct," he said. "One belongs to you. The other… belongs to Conrad's father, Jeremiah." The name lingered in the chamber, weighted with implication.

Magali's grip tightened slightly as she glanced down at the second drive. "Then why hasn't he come to claim it?" she asked.

"That," Scorpio replied, "is precisely the issue. Jeremiah has made no attempt to contact the Council, nor has he responded to any outreach. His absence at the funeral only deepens our concern."

A brief silence followed before he continued. "Therefore, we are making a request of you."

Magali lifted her gaze again, something uncertain stirring in her chest—an unease that felt both foreign and familiar.

"We ask that you travel to Brooklyn, New York," Scorpio said, "and deliver the Memorial Drive to him personally." The chamber fell silent once more, the weight of the request settling around her like a second skin.

Magali looked down at the two drives resting in her hands—one meant for her, the other for a man she had never truly known. The absence she had felt at the funeral now carried shape, direction, purpose. This was no longer just a question lingering in her mind. It was a path. And whether she was ready or not… it was one she would have to follow.

A week later, Magali stood in the heart of Brooklyn, following the directions she had been given with a quiet, unwavering determination. Her hood was pulled low over her face, shadowing her features and concealing her identity from the unfamiliar world around her. Beyond the borders of Sweetdance City, attention was a luxury she could not afford—not now, not while carrying the weight of grief and purpose in equal measure.

Bushwick stretched out before her, raw and unpolished, a stark contrast to the vibrant, curated beauty she had always known. The streets pulsed with a different kind of life—graffiti layered over weathered brick walls, the hum of distant traffic weaving through the air, voices rising and falling without the practiced charm of performers. It felt real. Unfiltered. And strangely distant from the world Conrad had once ruled with effortless brilliance.

She stopped in front of the building. It was old—older than anything she had ever lived in. The structure leaned slightly with age, its exterior worn by years of neglect and weather. The buzzers by the entrance were cracked and lifeless, their faded buttons hinting at stories long forgotten. The front door remained stubbornly shut until a passerby pushed it open and stepped inside.

Magali caught the door before it closed and hesitated for a moment. "Excuse me," she said softly. "Do you know Jeremiah?"

The stranger glanced at her, then nodded without hesitation, holding the door open just a little longer. "He's up on the fourth floor," they said simply. That was all the invitation she needed.

Inside, the air was heavy and stale, the dim lighting casting long shadows across the narrow hallway. Magali made her way to the staircase and began to climb, each step creaking beneath her weight. The higher she went, the more the reality settled in.

This… was where Conrad had grown up.

Not a grand home filled with music and dance. Not a place that reflected the brilliance he would one day embody. This was something else entirely—quiet, worn down, almost forgotten. A place where people didn't chase dreams anymore, but simply endured.

Magali paused on the landing, her hand resting lightly against her stomach. The image of Conrad—the idol, the star, the man who burned so brightly—felt almost unreal against the backdrop of these walls. The contrast was jarring, a reminder of how much of his life had been shaped long before she ever knew him.

Magali stood before the door, her hand hovering just inches from the worn wood. For a long moment, she hesitated, her breath caught somewhere between fear and resolve. This was it—the last piece of Conrad's life she had yet to face, the final thread connecting her to the man she had loved. Taking a quiet breath, she knocked.

There was a pause. Then… a strange scuffle from inside. Something shifted, a chair scraping across the floor, hurried footsteps moving in uneven, unsteady patterns. The sound made her tense, her fingers curling slightly, but before she could second‑guess herself, the door creaked open.

The man standing there made her heart skip. He looked like Conrad. Older—much older. His hair was a dull, unkempt brunette streaked faintly with gray, and his frame was thin, almost fragile, as though life had worn him down piece by piece. His clothes hung loosely on him, ill‑fitting and tired. A rough stubble shadowed his jaw, but it was his eyes that struck her most—hollow, weighed down by something deep and unspoken, yet unmistakably familiar.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. "Can I help you?" the man asked at last, his voice tired but not unkind.

Magali swallowed softly. "My name is Magali," she said. "I'm… Conrad's wife."

The reaction was immediate. Jeremiah froze, his expression shifting from confusion to shock in an instant. "Wife?" he repeated, as if the word itself were foreign. "Conrad… got married?" He stared at her, searching her face with a desperate, almost fragile intensity, as though trying to confirm she was real. "I—I haven't heard from him since he left to become an idol…"

Before she could respond, he stepped aside quickly, almost nervously. "Come in," he said. "Please—come in."

Magali stepped inside. The apartment was small and cluttered, though not unlivable. Newspapers lay scattered across tables and chairs, dishes sat where they didn't belong, and the air carried the faint scent of dust and old coffee. It wasn't neglect so much as resignation—a place where someone lived, but not fully. A place where time passed without purpose.

Jeremiah hurried ahead of her, brushing newspapers off the couch in a flustered attempt to make space. "Sorry about the mess," he muttered. "Didn't expect company." He gestured toward the seat. "Can I get you something? Water? Tea?"

Magali shook her head gently. "No, thank you."

He nodded and sat across from her, his hands resting awkwardly on his knees. For a moment, a quiet tension settled between them—his curiosity, her hesitation, the unspoken truth hanging heavily in the air. "So…" Jeremiah said at last, a faint, almost hopeful smile touching his lips. "How can I help you?"

Magali blinked. The question caught her off guard. There was no grief in his voice. No shadow of loss. If anything, there was something lighter—something almost relieved. The kind of reaction one might have after hearing from someone they thought was lost, not gone.

He didn't know. Not about the marriage. Not about the performance. Not about Conrad's death.

Magali felt her chest tighten as she looked at him—this man who had raised Conrad, who now sat across from her completely unaware of the tragedy that had unfolded. And somehow… despite the years of silence between father and son, there was a quiet happiness in him, born simply from learning that Conrad had built a life. It made what she had come to say feel even heavier.

There was so much about him she had never known. And now, standing at the threshold of his past, she realized just how much of his story had been left untold.

Magali sat quietly for a moment, studying him, trying to reconcile the man before her with the father Conrad had never spoken much about. The silence stretched just long enough to become uncomfortable, a thin thread of hesitation pulling taut between them. At last, she drew a slow breath and spoke.

"…Why did you lose contact with him?" she asked gently.

Jeremiah shifted in his seat, the faint warmth he'd shown earlier dimming into something more uncertain. He scratched the back of his neck, letting out a small, awkward laugh that failed to hide the discomfort beneath it. "Yeah… that's on me," he admitted. "I haven't exactly been… keeping it together."

His eyes drifted around the apartment, as though the clutter itself could explain the years that had slipped away. "I couldn't hold down a job," he continued. "Still can't, honestly. Been living off government assistance for years now. Ever since I left Sweetdance City…" His voice trailed off, the unfinished thought hanging in the air like a loose thread.

Then his gaze settled on the corner of the room. A landline phone sat there, coated in a thin layer of dust, its cord hanging loosely from the wall. It looked as though it hadn't worked in decades, a relic from a life that had stopped moving long before he realized it.

"I don't have a cell phone," Jeremiah added with a shrug. "Never really saw the point. And I don't use the internet. Too much noise, if you ask me."

Magali followed his gaze, her chest tightening as the realization began to take shape. "…What about mail?" she asked softly. "You could've written to him, couldn't you?"

Jeremiah let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Mail?" he repeated. "C'mon… nobody uses that anymore."

The answer lingered in the room, heavier than he seemed to understand. It wasn't just a lack of communication. It was a life that had quietly fallen out of step with the world—until even the simplest connections slipped through the cracks. And Conrad, chasing a dream far beyond these walls, had simply kept moving forward and left him behind.

Magali lowered her eyes, her fingers tightening slightly around the bag in her lap. This wasn't simple distance. It wasn't just time or circumstance. It was disconnection—a slow, quiet drifting apart that neither of them had truly fought to stop. Conrad had left to chase something greater, and Jeremiah… had simply stayed behind, slipping further and further out of reach until the silence between them became its own kind of permanence.

Jeremiah blinked, as though pulling himself back from thoughts he rarely allowed himself to revisit. "Forgive me," he said, rubbing his temple with a weary hand. "What was your name again?"

"Magali-Anna Artisan," she replied.

The reaction was immediate. "Artisan?" Jeremiah repeated, sitting up a little straighter. "As in… Julian Artisan?"

Magali nodded. "He's my father."

A quiet smile spread across Jeremiah's face, filled with recognition and something warmer—familiarity, even fondness. "Yeah… that makes sense," he said. "I should've known. You look so much like him."

"You knew him?" Magali asked.

Jeremiah let out a small chuckle. "Knew him? Everyone knew Julian back then. He was already making a name for himself." His expression softened, touched by a distant warmth. "He even came to my wedding."

Magali blinked. "Your wedding?"

"To Meredith," Jeremiah said, his voice growing distant, almost reverent. "She was… something else."

His eyes drifted, no longer seeing the room around him.

"They called her the Mermaid Princess," he continued. "It wasn't just a stage name—it was who she was. Every performance, every outfit… always tied to the sea. Flowing blues and purples, shells, stars… like she belonged in the ocean more than on land."

Magali listened quietly, the image forming vividly in her mind—an idol wrapped in shimmering colors, moving like water, radiant in a way that felt almost mythical.

"I fell for her hard," Jeremiah admitted, a faint, self-aware smile tugging at his lips. "Didn't even try to fight it. One day, I just walked up to her and told her everything—how I felt, what she meant to me." He exhaled slowly, the sound threaded with memory. "And she said yes."

There was a pause, filled with something fragile—something that had once been beautiful. "We got married not long after. Julian was there—front row, smiling like he already knew it would work out." Jeremiah let out a quiet laugh, soft and bittersweet. "And for a while… it did."

His smile lingered, but it no longer reached his eyes. The warmth that had briefly surfaced faded into something hollow, something worn thin by years of unanswered questions and unhealed wounds. Magali noticed. Whatever came after that happiness… was where everything had begun to fall apart.

She hesitated before asking the question, though she already felt the weight of the answer pressing against her chest.

"…What happened to Meredith?"

The shift in Jeremiah was immediate.

The faint light in his expression dimmed, replaced by a heaviness that settled over him like a shadow. He looked away, his gaze drifting somewhere far beyond the walls of the apartment, as if the room itself had vanished.

"She vanished," he said quietly.

Magali's breath caught.

"One day, she left home for a performance," he continued. "Same as always. Nothing unusual. She kissed Conrad goodbye, told me she'd be back late…" His voice faltered, the memory catching on something sharp. "But she never made it to the stage."

Silence filled the space between them, thick and unmoving.

"No one saw anything," Jeremiah went on, his voice hollow. "No witnesses. No signs of struggle. It was like she just… disappeared." His hands clenched slightly in his lap, knuckles whitening. "I looked for her. Everywhere. For months. Years, even. I didn't stop. I couldn't."

Magali watched him carefully, her heart tightening as she saw the quiet devastation he had carried alone for so long.

"And then…" Jeremiah exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening. "The rumors started."

Magali didn't speak.

"They said she ran off," he said bitterly. "Left me. Left Conrad. Said she eloped with another idol." He shook his head, a humorless laugh slipping out, brittle and sharp. "At first, I ignored it. I knew Meredith. She wouldn't do that. She wouldn't just leave her family behind."

His voice grew sharper, the pain beneath it rising to the surface.

"But people kept talking. Whispering. Laughing. Twisting the story until it sounded real." He looked down, his hands trembling now. "And after a while… it got harder to fight it. Harder to ignore."

He paused, as if reliving the moment in vivid detail.

"One day… one of them said it to my face," Jeremiah continued. "Mocked me for it. Said I wasn't good enough, that she found someone better." His eyes darkened, the memory still raw. "I snapped."

Magali held her breath.

"It turned physical," he admitted. "I don't even remember how it started. Just that I couldn't stop." He let out a slow, exhausted breath. "But in the end… it didn't matter."

His voice dropped to a quiet, defeated murmur.

"He walked away without consequences."

Magali felt her chest tighten.

"And I was the one forced out," Jeremiah said. "Told to leave the city. Just like that." His gaze hardened, though the pain beneath it never left. "I had no choice. I took Conrad and left. He was just a toddler… didn't understand any of it."

The room fell silent again. Magali sat there, absorbing every word, every fractured memory, every piece of a past Conrad had never shared with her. What she had once assumed was simple distance between father and son was something far more complicated—something shaped by loss, humiliation, and exile. And suddenly… Jeremiah's absence at the funeral didn't feel like indifference anymore. It felt like the result of a life that had been quietly broken long before she ever met Conrad.

Jeremiah leaned back in his chair, the weight of memory settling deeper into his posture. For a moment, he said nothing, as though deciding how much of the truth he was willing to give.

"You know what happens to exiled idols?" he asked quietly.

Magali shook her head no.

"They disappear," he said. "Not all at once… but slowly. Piece by piece."

His gaze drifted across the room again, taking in the worn furniture, the clutter, the stillness of a life that had stalled years ago. "My family… Meredith's family… we were idols for generations. That's all we ever knew. Performance, stage presence, entertaining crowds." He let out a dry, brittle laugh. "No one ever thought to teach us anything else."

Magali listened, her chest tightening with each word.

"So when I was forced out," Jeremiah continued, "that was it. I had no skills that mattered out here. Couldn't keep a job. Tried… but nothing stuck. And Conrad…" He paused, a faint, conflicted smile tugging at his lips. "He was the complete opposite of me."

There was a flicker of pride in his eyes now, buried beneath the regret. "Full of energy. Always moving. Always playing something—guitar, drums, anything he could get his hands on. Couldn't sit still if his life depended on it." He shook his head slowly. "And I… I kept telling him to quiet down. Keep the noise down. Don't draw attention."

Magali's fingers tightened slightly in her lap.

"But he didn't listen," Jeremiah went on. "He couldn't. That kind of fire… you don't just turn it off." His voice softened, touched by something almost tender. "So he found other ways. Sneaking out, jumping between buildings like some reckless idiot…" A faint, almost fond exhale escaped him. "Hanging around street corners, playing music with people I didn't trust."

His expression darkened again. "Police brought him home more times than I can count," he admitted. "And every time… I told myself I'd fix it. That I'd be a better father." He looked down at his hands, the tremor in them barely visible. "But eventually… I just gave up."

The words hung heavy between them. Magali felt a quiet ache settle in her chest.

"Then one day," Jeremiah continued, "he was seventeen. He packed his things—didn't say much. Just grabbed his guitar and headed for the door." His voice grew distant, replaying the moment with painful clarity. "I told him… 'You'll be back. There's no future out there.'" A bitter smile crossed his face. "That was the last time I saw him."

Silence settled over the room, heavy and unmoving. Magali sat there, absorbing the truth—not just of Conrad's past, but of the man sitting across from her. A father who had lost everything, who had watched his son walk away believing he would fail… and who had never learned how wrong he was.

Conrad hadn't failed. He had become something extraordinary. And Jeremiah had never known.

Jeremiah shifted slightly in his seat, the faint warmth from earlier returning for just a moment, flickering like a fragile ember. "So…" he said, almost casually, though something hopeful trembled beneath the surface. "Where is he?" He glanced toward the door, as if expecting Conrad to walk in at any second. "Why didn't he come with you?"

Magali's breath caught. For a moment, she couldn't speak. Every instinct in her body urged her to look away, to delay, to soften the truth—but there was no gentle way to say this. Her hands tightened in her lap, nails pressing into her palms as she forced herself to remain steady.

"He's… gone," she said quietly.

Jeremiah frowned, confusion knitting his brow. "Gone?" he repeated, not yet understanding.

Magali swallowed hard, gathering what little strength she had left. "There was an incident," she began, her voice trembling despite her effort to steady it. "Someone attacked me… and Conrad stepped in." Her eyes lowered. "He took a knife to the chest. It was meant for me."

Jeremiah didn't move.

"He survived at first," she continued, her voice softening into something fragile. "But the damage… it never healed properly. His heart was failing because of it." A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it. "He passed away… a couple of weeks ago."

Silence. Magali slowly lifted her gaze—and saw it. The moment it broke him.

Jeremiah's expression froze, as if his mind refused to accept the words. Then, slowly, the truth settled in. His eyes lost what little light they had left, hollowing further under the weight of a grief that struck too deep, too suddenly.

"…No," he whispered, barely audible. Conrad, his son. The one thing he had left in the world—the one person he had believed would come back someday, walking through that door like nothing had changed. The years of waiting, of quiet hope, of believing there was still time… all of it collapsed in an instant.

He had been wrong. Conrad hadn't failed—he had succeeded. He had built a life. Found love. Got married. Become something more than Jeremiah had ever believed possible. And just like that, he was gone.

Jeremiah lowered his head, his hands trembling as they covered his face. No tears came at first—just silence, heavy and suffocating, as though the weight of the truth had crushed the breath out of him.

"The city…" he muttered faintly, his voice cracking under the strain. "It took Meredith…" His shoulders shook, the words unraveling into something raw. "And now it took my son too…"

Magali hesitated, watching the grief settle over him like a storm cloud, unsure if anything she said could reach him now. Slowly, she reached into her bag and pulled out the second Memorial Drive. Without a word, she placed it gently on the table between them.

"I came to give you this," she said softly. "It's Conrad's Memorial Drive. It has everything… his performances, his career as an idol. Everything he became."

Jeremiah didn't move at first. The small disk sat between them, quiet and unassuming, yet impossibly heavy with meaning. After a long moment, he reached out and picked it up, turning it over in his rough, unsteady hands. His fingers traced its edges as if trying to feel something through it—some echo of the son he had lost.

Then, just as slowly, he set it back down. "You should keep it," he said, his voice low.

Magali blinked. "What?"

"I have no use for it," Jeremiah continued, still avoiding her eyes. "I don't have a computer. Don't even know how to work one if I did." He let out a faint, bitter breath. "There's no way for me to see what's on there."

Magali opened her mouth to respond, but he shook his head. "Even if I could…" he added quietly, his voice tightening, "I don't deserve it."

The words hung between them, heavy and unyielding. "I wasn't there for him," Jeremiah said.

"Not when he needed me. Not when he left. Not when he made something of himself." His hands clenched slightly, knuckles whitening. "I spent years thinking he'd come back… that he'd fail and walk through that door again." A hollow laugh escaped him, brittle and self‑punishing. "But he didn't. He went out there and became something I never believed he could be."

He looked at the drive again, but didn't reach for it this time. "And I missed all of it."

Silence filled the room once more, thick with regret and self‑blame. Magali sat across from him, holding the weight of both drives now—not just as memories of Conrad, but as the remnants of a life that had never been fully shared between father and son.

Jeremiah slowly pushed himself to his feet, as though the conversation had become too heavy to bear while sitting. His movements were unsteady, his gaze distant. For a moment, it seemed like he was about to retreat—back into himself, back into the quiet, dimly lit life he had built around absence.

But Magali stood as well. "There's something else," she said, her voice soft but steady, carrying a resolve she barely felt.

Jeremiah paused, turning toward her with a weary, expectant look.

"I'm pregnant," she said. Her hand rested gently over her stomach. "It's Conrad's child."

Jeremiah's expression changed—just slightly, but enough. For the first time since she had arrived, something warmer broke through the grief. Not happiness, not fully… but something close. Something human. A small, tired smile formed on his face.

"…Thank you," he whispered.

Magali opened her mouth, wanting to say more. She wanted to tell him he could still be part of something, that he didn't have to be alone anymore. She wanted to ask him to come back with her, to help raise the child Conrad would never meet, to rebuild something from the pieces left behind.

But the words wouldn't come, because she was still breaking too. There was no comfort she could offer him—not when she was barely holding herself together. And the comfort she had hoped to find here… the reassurance, the shared strength… it wasn't here. He was just as lost as she was.

So instead, she turned. She walked toward the door slowly, each step heavier than the last. She reached for the handle, her fingers tightening around it as she prepared to leave.

And then she heard it. A quiet sound at first. Then it broke. "I'm sorry… son…"

Jeremiah's voice cracked behind her, trembling, repeating the words over and over as the grief finally tore its way free. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"

Magali froze for just a second, her eyes closing as the sound pierced through her. But she couldn't stay. If she did… she would fall apart too. So she opened the door and stepped out into the world, pulling it closed behind her as the sound of his grief echoed faintly through the walls.

She walked down the stairs quickly, her vision blurring, her breath uneven. By the time she reached the street, the tears were already falling. She didn't stop walking. She couldn't.

She had promised Conrad she would be strong. For him. For their child. But strength didn't make the pain any easier to bear. And as she disappeared into the city, one thing became painfully clear— The world was not going to make any of this easy for her.