Chapter 59:
The Ghosts of What Ifs

"I'll be going now, Mr. Mattson."

Harry straightened in his chair, his movements slow and deliberate as he smoothed the fabric of his tailored suit. The older man watched him from the hospital bed with a gaze that seemed to see right through him - past the calm exterior, past the title, past everything Harry showed the world. Mr. Mattson had been a close family friend for as long as Harry could remember. In many ways, he felt more like family than his own relatives did these days.

"Just sit with me for one more minute, Harry," Mr. Mattson said softly, gesturing weakly toward the empty chair. "There's something I need you to hear."

Harry paused, then settled back into the seat, leaning forward slightly.

"You see these hands?" Mr. Mattson lifted trembling, weathered hands into the light filtering through the window. "They've held so many things. Fortunes, contracts, glasses of wine, hands of people I loved... and do you know what I've learned? None of it matters if you don't have someone to share it with. Not the money. Not the name. Not the legacy."

He paused, his eyes searching Harry's.

"You visit me here - and I am grateful. But your grandfather is also getting old. He sits by his window every Sunday morning, waiting, hoping you might walk through that door. He wants to meet his great-grandson, Ethan. He wants to know the woman his grandson chose to build a life with. Before time runs out, Harry. Before there are only empty chairs and unanswered questions."

The words settled in the quiet room, heavy and undeniable. Harry nodded, but his chest felt tight. He knew Mr. Mattson meant well. But he didn't understand everything that stood between Harry and that house.

It had been years since he'd spoken to his grandfather. Years since he'd spoken to his father. And every time he pictured walking through that front gate, remembering what they had done - how they had stood by and let him believe Olivia's lies for years - something cold and hard coiled in his chest. It wasn't just anger. It was grief. Grief for all those months he'd missed with his son. Grief for the time he could never get back.

What if Ethan had never gotten sick? What if he hadn't needed that blood transfusion? I might never have known I existed to him at all. I might have gone on living a lie, completely unaware that I had a son waiting for me somewhere in the world.

The thought made his stomach turn.

What if Kathalina had never come back into my life? I might still be living in that beautiful, carefully constructed illusion Olivia built around me. Happy, but hollow. Loving a shadow that never truly existed.

And the question that haunted him most, the one he dared not speak aloud: What if that accident had never happened? Would I be waking up beside Kathalina right now, no confusion, no second-guessing, no ghosts lingering in the corners of our home? Would I have loved her fully, completely, the way she deserves?

He stood up slowly, excusing himself, and stepped out into the hospital corridor. The air felt cooler here, the lighting softer, the smell of antiseptic and polished floor wax wrapping around him like a second skin. But his mind was still a thousand miles away, tangled in all those what-ifs that offered no answers.

There was something else too - something he hadn't told a single soul. Every time he saw Andrei Lee, a strange, unsettling familiarity washed over him. It wasn't just that he was handsome, or kind, or that he seemed to fit so naturally into places Harry felt he no longer belonged. It was deeper than that. There was something in the way he moved, something in his eyes... like a memory half-remembered, a name on the tip of his tongue. Andrei felt connected to everything that had happened - to the accident, to the secrets, to the very foundation of the life Harry had woken up to five years ago. He couldn't explain it. He had no evidence. But the feeling lingered, heavy and unshakable.

He walked on, hands in his pockets, his footsteps quiet against the tiles. Around him, the hospital moved with its own rhythm - doctors in crisp white coats hurrying past, families clutching one another in waiting areas, the distant sound of a child laughing down the hall. But Harry felt apart from it all. Like he was watching everyone else's life unfold while his own stood suspended in uncertainty.

Should I go home? Should I knock on that door and finally face them?

Because if he visited his grandfather, he knew exactly who would be there too. His stepmother. The woman who had once looked Kathalina up and down and called her a gold digger. The memory still burned. Does she not see herself? Does she not remember how she walked into my father's life while my mother was still fighting for hers?

He remembered his mother then - the way her laughter filled the hallways, how she hummed while cooking breakfast, how she would tuck his hair behind his ear and tell him he was her greatest gift. And then the sickness came. It took her slowly, cruelly, until she was just a shadow of the vibrant woman she'd been. And while she lay in that hospital bed, terrified and fragile, his father had already found comfort in someone else. He had brought another woman into their home before his mother had even closed her eyes for the last time.

Harry had made a promise to himself then, sitting by her bedside, holding her thin hand in both of his - I will never be him. When I love someone, I will stay. I will show up. I won't look for an exit when things get difficult.

But now, looking at the mess he'd made of his own life, the people he was hurting every single day... he realized with a sinking heart that he wasn't better than his father. In some ways, he was worse. At least his father had the courage to leave before building something new. Harry was trying to exist in two worlds at once - one foot in the life he was building with Kathalina and Ethan, and one foot lingering in the memory of what he thought he had with Olivia. He was keeping both women waiting, hurting both because he couldn't bear the thought of letting either go.

Kathalina - she was real. She was the one who got up in the middle of the night with Ethan, who packed his lunches, who kept their home warm and steady. She loved him without conditions, without games, without needing to be anyone but herself. And Olivia... was it truly love anymore? Or was he just attached to the version of her that saved him? Was he in love with the woman she actually was, or the one he needed her to be?

Lost in the storm of his own thoughts, Harry turned a corner too quickly and collided with someone.

Paper bags crinkled and tore. Glass jars clattered. Apples rolled across the floor, bouncing softly against the base of the wall.

"I am so sorry - please, let me help you."

He knelt immediately, gathering the items - a carton of milk, a loaf of bread, fresh fruit - and when he reached out to hand them back, his breath caught in his throat.

Her hands paused, hovering close to his.

He looked up, and their eyes met - those striking ocean-blue eyes that had haunted his dreams and confused his reality for years.

Olivia.

Time seemed to stretch thin around them. The hospital noise faded into the background. There was just her - standing there in a soft cream coat, her blonde hair catching the light, her expression guarded but breathtakingly beautiful. She looked different now - quieter, more sure of herself, like someone who had walked through fire and come out the other side. But her eyes... they were exactly as he remembered. Clear. Deep. And full of things he could no longer understand.

Before he could stop himself, before he could remind himself of everything that stood between them, the thought rose unbidden and undeniable in his mind:

She is so gorgeous.