A Father’s Regret
1231 Words
Braxton’s POV
“He died because he trusted me.”
The words settled over the room like a storm cloud, heavy enough to steal the air from my lungs.
For the longest time, neither of us spoke.
My father remained seated behind his desk, his gaze fixed on the old photograph lying between us. Twelve years had faded its colors, but not the memories attached to it. Victor Hayes stood beside him with one arm slung over his shoulder, both men smiling as though the future belonged to them. Between them stood a little girl, her tiny fingers wrapped around their hands.
Camila.
It was strange how a single evening had transformed that photograph from an old family keepsake into something painfully real.
“You’ve never mentioned him before,” I said quietly.
“I know.”
“You’ve never mentioned Camila.”
“I know.”
“So why now?”
His shoulders rose with a weary breath before slowly falling again.
“Because I don’t have the luxury of waiting anymore.”
I studied him in silence.
My father had never been a man to wear his emotions where people could see them. Growing up, I used to think nothing could shake Richard Atkins. Not hostile takeovers, not economic crashes, not the endless pressure that came with running one of the largest corporations in the country. He approached every problem with the same measured calm, as though panic were a luxury reserved for other people.
The man sitting across from me now looked nothing like that.
The confidence was still there, but it had been buried beneath something heavier. Regret had a way of changing people. It stole the certainty from their voices, the steadiness from their hands, the peace from their eyes.
For the first time in my life, my father looked old.
Not because of the silver creeping through his hair or the lines etched into his face, but because he looked tired in a way sleep could never fix.
Whatever happened twelve years ago…
He’d been living with it ever since.
The answer irritated me more than it satisfied.
For thirty-two years, Richard Atkins had been the one man I believed always had a plan. Even during the darkest periods of our company’s history, he’d remained calm, calculated, impossible to read.
Tonight, he looked like a man who had spent twelve years carrying a weight he could no longer hold.
“You said Victor died because he trusted you.” I held his gaze. “What does that mean?”
His fingers tightened around the edge of the desk.
“It means I made a decision I’ll regret for the rest of my life.”
“What decision?”
He looked at me for a long moment before slowly shaking his head.
“Not yet.”
A humorless laugh escaped me.
“You ask me to find a woman I’ve never met, tell me I have to marry her, admit her father died because of you…”
I leaned forward.
“…and your answer is not yet?”
“I need you to trust me.”
The irony wasn’t lost on either of us.
“Victor trusted you.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Pain flashed across his face.
I’d never seen my father flinch from the truth.
Until now.
“I’m asking you to do what he did,” he said quietly. “Trust me one last time.”
Silence stretched between us.
Part of me wanted to keep pressing him until every unanswered question had a name and every secret had a face.
The other part already knew it wouldn’t matter.
Richard Atkins had never spoken before he was ready.
He wasn’t about to start tonight.
I stood and walked toward the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, slipping one hand into my pocket as I tried to organize the questions fighting for space in my head.
Camila Hayes.
Only hours ago, she had been an interesting woman I’d met twice by coincidence.
Now she was the daughter of the man my father couldn’t forgive himself for failing.
I thought back to our conversation at the gala.
The way she’d spoken about design with quiet conviction.
The confidence in her voice whenever she explained why people deserved beautiful spaces regardless of their income.
Nothing about her suggested she knew she was standing in the middle of a story that had begun long before either of us exchanged names.
Had she grown up knowing who Richard Atkins was?
Did she hate my family?
Or had life somehow spared her that burden?
I wasn’t sure which answer unsettled me more.
“I met Camila by accident.”
“I know.”
“She doesn’t know who she is to us.”
His expression hardened.
“And she mustn’t.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Not yet.”
“There it is again.”
He ignored the remark.
“If she discovers the truth before the right people are exposed…”
His voice trailed off.
“They’ll come for her.”
A chill crept down my spine.
“They?”
For the first time that night, I saw something I never thought I’d witness in my father.
Fear.
Not concern.
Not regret.
Fear.
He glanced toward the study door before lowering his voice.
“The less you know, the safer you’ll be.”
I followed his gaze.
The house was quiet, all the staff had gone home hours ago.
Even so, he spoke as though someone might be listening.
Whoever “they” were…
My father believed they were still watching, still waiting, still dangerous.
A hundred possibilities ran through my mind, each one darker than the last.
Was he talking about a rival company?
Someone connected to Victor Hayes?
Or was this something much bigger than either of us had realized?
For years, I’d convinced myself there wasn’t a problem I couldn’t solve if I had enough information.
Tonight, information was the one thing I didn’t have.
Only fragments.
A promise.
A photograph.
A surname.
And a woman who had unknowingly walked back into a past she’d never asked to inherit.
I reached into my pocket and unfolded the photograph again.
Victor Hayes smiled back at me from another lifetime, his arm slung around my father’s shoulders as though nothing in the world could ever come between them.
People didn’t smile like that unless they trusted completely.
The thought lingered longer than I wanted it to.
Trust.
My father had asked for mine, Victor had once given him his.
One of those decisions had ended in tragedy.
I couldn’t help wondering what the other would cost.
I slipped the photograph into my jacket pocket.
His eyes followed the movement.
“Keep it.”
“You sure?”
He nodded.
“One day, you’ll understand why.”
I wasn’t convinced but I took it anyway.
As I reached the study door, his voice stopped me.
“Braxton.”
I turned around to face him.
“If anything happens to me…”
The sentence hung unfinished between us.
“I’ll handle it.”
“No.”
His expression grew unexpectedly firm.
“I need you to promise me something.”
I waited.
“No matter what Camila believes…”
His eyes met mine with quiet desperation.
“…don’t let her fight this alone.”
- Writer
