Chapter 60:
The Truth That Walked Through the Door

"Oh, Harry... what are you doing here?"

Olivia's voice was soft, breathless, as their hands brushed against each other while he helped her pick up the scattered items. Her fingers trembled slightly against his, and he could feel the hesitation radiating from her even before she pulled her hand gently away.

"I'm visiting an old family friend at the hospital," Harry said, straightening up as he placed the last jar of pasta sauce into the paper bag. He kept his tone light, but his heart was beating a little too fast against his ribs. "What about you? I didn't expect to see you here."

"I'm here for Andrei's mother," she answered quietly. And just like that, the faint warmth in her expression faded. She looked down at the crumpled paper in her hands, her shoulders slumping visibly under the weight of worry. "She's been in the ICU all day. Andrei won't tell me the details, but... I can feel it. Something isn't right."

"Liv, are you sure you're okay?" Harry asked, his voice softening. He reached out instinctively, then stopped himself, his hand hovering uselessly between them before he let it fall back to his side.

She looked up quickly, blinking as if waking from a dream, and forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Yes. I'm fine. Just... a long day. A very long day."

"Are you heading home now?" he asked, nodding toward the exit. When she nodded silently, he found himself saying, "It's late. Really late. Let me drive you. Please. It's not safe for you to be walking around alone at this hour."

She hesitated. He could see the conflict warring inside her - the part of her that still trusted him warring with the part that knew better than to let him close. But eventually, she gave a small, weary nod. "Thank you, Harry. That's very kind of you."

The ride to her apartment was quiet, but it wasn't peaceful. It was heavy, loaded with years of unspoken words and tangled histories. She sat with her hands folded tightly in her lap, staring out the passenger window as streetlights swept across her face in golden streaks. Every few seconds, he would glance over at her, and every time, something in his chest ached.

I miss her, he admitted to himself, and the admission felt both comforting and terrifying. God, I miss the sound of her voice, the way she used to hum while making coffee, the way she'd look at me like I was the only person in the room.

The familiar scent of mint and wild strawberry drifted toward him from the passenger seat, and for a moment, it felt like no time had passed at all. She looked different now - her hair shorter, her posture straighter, her eyes carrying a quiet strength that hadn't been there before. But beneath all that, she was still the woman he had shared four years of his life with. The woman who had once been his entire world.

A sharp, foolish twist of jealousy tightened in his chest when he thought of Andrei - of how naturally he seemed to fit into Olivia's life now, how easily she leaned on him. But beneath that jealousy lay something far more important: gratitude. Because while Harry was tangled up in his own mess, Andrei had been there. He had been the one to hold her up when Harry couldn't even be honest with himself. And as painful as that was to admit, Harry knew she needed someone steady in her corner - not someone like him, who showed up only when he was feeling lost.

When they reached her building, he turned off the engine but made no move to get out.

"You don't have to walk me up," she said, unbuckling her seatbelt. "I'll be fine."

"I know," he said, opening his door anyway. "But I'd feel better seeing you inside. Please."

She didn't argue further. They walked up the stairs in comfortable silence, and when they reached her door, she fumbled slightly with her keys before getting the lock to turn.

"This is it," she said, stepping inside but holding the door ajar. She turned back to him, the soft hallway light catching the strands of her hair. "Thank you, Harry. Truly. For everything tonight."

"You're welcome," he said, and he meant it. He was about to say goodnight and walk away - until she stepped back and opened the door wider.

"Would you... like to come in for a moment?" she asked, her voice nervous but sincere. "I actually made dinner earlier - more than I can eat alone. It won't take a minute, I promise."

He should have said no. He knew that. He should have wished her goodnight and walked away. But something in the way she looked at him - lonely, tired, and for just a moment, like she needed someone - broke through his better judgment. He stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him.

Minutes later, she set a steaming plate in front of him - perfectly baked salmon, golden and glistening with butter and herbs, garnished with fresh lemon slices. His favorite. Exactly the way he used to love it.

"There," she said, beaming with quiet pride as she placed the cutlery beside his plate. "I hope it's still to your taste."

Harry looked up at her, genuinely surprised. "Liv, I seem to remember you couldn't even boil water without setting off the smoke alarm. You used to say the kitchen was strictly my territory. Since when did you become such a wonderful cook?"

Her cheeks flushed a soft, becoming pink. "I had plenty of time to learn," she said simply, sitting down across from him. "And someone taught me."

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow, smiling. "Who's the mystery chef who worked such wonders?"

"Andrei did," she answered, taking a small sip of water.

Harry's smile faltered. Just for a second. But he recovered quickly, nodding as he picked up his fork. Of course he did. The thought of Andrei standing right here in this kitchen, apron tied around his waist, teaching her these small, intimate things that Harry had never bothered to learn himself... it stung more than it should have. But he pushed the feeling aside and took a bite.

It was delicious. The fish was tender, the seasoning delicate and bright - she had remembered every detail. But as he chewed, his mind drifted unbidden to Kathalina. He thought of her in their kitchen, the way sunlight caught her hair while she stirred a pot on the stove, how she always knew exactly what he needed before he even spoke. He thought of Ethan sitting on the counter, laughing while his mother baked cookies.

This is good, he realized with a heavy heart. But Kathalina? She isn't just good. She's home. She's the warmth I come back to. She's the mother of my child. And I'm sitting here eating dinner with another woman while she waits for me.

He reached into his pocket for his phone. He needed to text her - tell her he was safe, that he wouldn't be long, that she shouldn't wait up. But the screen remained dark no matter how many times he pressed the power button. Dead. Completely dead. He shoved it back into his pocket with a quiet sigh of frustration.

"Is everything alright?" Olivia asked, noticing the change in his expression.

"My phone died," he muttered. "No charger here, I guess."

She smiled gently. "It's okay. Stay a little longer. The world can wait a few minutes."

So he stayed. They sat in the warm glow of her pendant light, and for a little while, it felt almost easy. Almost like old times. But beneath every laugh, every shared glance, ran that quiet, undeniable current: This isn't right. None of this is right.

"You have something right here," he said softly, reaching across the table. His thumb brushed gently against the corner of her mouth, wiping away a faint trace of sauce.

She froze. Her breath caught audibly in the quiet room. Her ocean-blue eyes locked onto his, wide and uncertain, and her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink. For a heartbeat that stretched on forever, the air between them felt thin and charged, like a spark waiting to catch flame.

She is so beautiful, he thought, and the realization terrified him. But that's not enough. Beauty doesn't fix what's broken. It just makes it harder to walk away.

He pulled his hand back slowly, resting it on his lap like he was touching something he shouldn't.

I hope one day, he thought quietly, looking at the woman sitting across from him, we are all finally free. Free from the past, free from the lies, free from loving people who can't love us back the way we need. I hope I find the courage to make the right choice before I lose both of them completely.

And then -

BAM.

The front door slammed open. Not a knock. Not a warning. It crashed against the wall with a deafening sound that shook the small entryway, sending a jolt of pure adrenaline through both of them.

Harry jumped back as if burned, his heart slamming against his chest so hard he could hear it in his ears. Olivia stood up so quickly her chair scraped loudly against the wooden floor. They both turned toward the doorway, breathless, caught red-handed in a silence that suddenly felt like a confession.

And there he stood.

Andrei.

His coat was still slung over one arm, his keys dangling loosely from his fingers, his chest heaving slightly as if he'd run all the way here. But it was his face that made Harry's blood run cold. There was no anger. No shouting. Just... devastation. Pure, quiet, heartbreaking devastation.

His eyes moved slowly from Olivia - wide-eyed, flushed, guilty - to Harry sitting at her dining table, his half-eaten plate still steaming between them. And then his gaze dropped to the napkin Harry had just used to wipe her mouth, still crumpled on the table beside his hand.

No one spoke. But in that terrible, heavy silence, everything was said.

Andrei took a small, invisible step backward. Not toward them - away from them. It was the movement of someone realizing they've walked into a room where they don't belong. Someone who had spent so long building a place for himself, only to realize the door was never really his to walk through.

"I..." Andrei's voice cracked. He cleared his throat, trying again, quieter this time. "I see. You have company."

"It's not what you think, Drei -" Olivia started, reaching out toward him, her voice trembling.

But he didn't step closer. He just gave a sad, gentle smile that broke Harry's heart in two.

"It's okay, Olivia. I shouldn't have barged in. I'll... I'll come back another time."

He didn't wait for an answer. He didn't demand an explanation. He simply stepped back, pulled the door closed softly behind him - and was gone.

The click of the latch sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room.

Harry stood frozen, the weight of everything crashing down on him all at once. He looked at Olivia - tears already spilling over her cheeks, her hands covering her mouth, shaking with silent sobs. He thought of Kathalina at home, probably checking the front window every few minutes, wondering where he was, why he hadn't come back. And then he thought of Andrei - walking away right now, into the night, carrying a heart that had been given to someone who couldn't break it, only to have it broken anyway.

And in that shattering moment, the truth hit Harry with a force that nearly buckled his knees:

He wasn't the hero in anyone's story. He wasn't even the victim. He was just the obstacle.

He was the reason Olivia couldn't see what was right in front of her. He was the reason Kathalina stayed awake at night wondering if she was enough. He was the reason Andrei had to walk away from the woman he loved - not because he didn't love her enough, but because she was waiting for someone who couldn't choose her back.

Harry looked at the empty doorway, then at the woman crying because of him, and understood the cruelest truth of all:

He would never be good enough for either of them. Not for Olivia, who deserved someone who would stay without being asked. Not for Kathalina, who deserved someone who would choose her without hesitation. And certainly not for himself - because he knew, deep down, that he was the one losing everything that truly mattered.