The Photo
1021 Words
The door opened.
Elias stood there in a robe. And behind him, a photographer. With a camera.
“I just wanted to get a photo,” Elias said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “For the family album. My new granddaughter and grandson. In bed. Together.”
Damian went rigid beside me.
“Get out,” he said. His voice was ice. Final.
“Damian,” Elias sighed. Like he was talking to a child. “Don’t be difficult. It’s just one photo. For me.”
The photographer lifted the camera. The lens pointed right at us.
My heart was hammering. I could feel Damian’s tension. His anger.
I didn’t think. I just moved.
I shifted closer to Damian. And I laid my head on his chest.
His heart was pounding. Hard. Against my cheek. Like a caged animal.
For a second he froze.
Then, slowly, hesitantly... his arm came around me.
He pulled me closer. And buried his face in my hair.
His breath was warm on my scalp.
“Like this?” I whispered, my voice shaking. Only he could hear me.
He didn’t answer. He just held me tighter.
The camera flashed. Once. Twice. Three times.
“Perfect,” Elias said. His voice was soft now. Almost proud. “That’s my grandson.”
He left. The photographer followed. The door closed with a soft click.
We didn’t move.
For a long time.
The silence was different now. Not tense. Not angry.
Just... us.
Then Damian’s hand came up. And he ran it through my hair. Once. Twice.
Like he was afraid I’d disappear.
“Thank you,” he murmured into my hair.
His voice was rough. Broken.
---
The next morning.
Elias asked to see me. Alone.
In his study.
The room smelled like old books and whiskey.
“Sit, Arabella,” he said. He gestured to the chair across from his desk.
I sat. The ring felt heavy on my finger. Too heavy.
He studied me for a long time. His old eyes seeing right through me.
“You’ve been with him for 3 years,” he said finally.
I nodded. I couldn’t speak.
“2 years after the accident,” Elias added quietly.
My chest constricted.
Elias leaned forward. His hands were shaking on his cane. “Do you know what happened?”
“The car crash,” I whispered. “5 years ago, On the highway. In the rain. His parents died.”
“Yes,” Elias said. His voice cracked. “Eleanor and James Harrison. The best people I ever knew. Gone in a second.”
He looked out the window.
“Damian was driving,” he said. “He swerved to avoid a deer. The car flipped 3 times.”
I covered my mouth. I’d read the file. But hearing it...
“He woke up in the hospital 3 weeks later,” Elias continued. “And the first thing he asked was if his parents were okay.”
A tear fell down my cheek.
“When they told him...” Elias shook his head. “Something in him died that day too.”
The room was silent. Only the ticking of the clock.
“He was already in the wheelchair when you met him,” Elias said. He turned to me. “Angry. Closed. He fired 6 secretaries in 2 months.”
I remembered. My first day. He’d thrown a pen at me.
“And you stayed,” Elias said. A sad smile. “For 3 years. You’re the only one who stayed.”
I shook my head. “I just did my job—”
“Don’t,” Elias cut me off. “Don’t lie to an old man.”
He stood up and walked to the window. His back was bent.
“There’s a surgery,” he said. “Experimental. In Switzerland, there is a 60% chance he walks again. The best doctors in the world.”
My breath caught.
“I've been begging him for 5 years,” Elias said. “He refuses every time.”
“Why?” The word slipped out.
Elias turned to me. His eyes were wet.
“Because he thinks he deserves to be in that chair,” he whispered. “Because he thinks if he walks again, it means he’s forgotten them. That he’s moved on.”
My heart shattered.
Elias walked to me. And he took my hands in his. His skin was paper thin.
“I’m asking you, Arabella,” he said. “Please. Talk to him. You’re the only one he looks at like he’s still human. Convince him. For me. For Eleanor and James.”
“And take care of him,” he added. His voice broke completely. “He'd been alone in that chair, in that darkness, for 5 years. Please. Take care of my boy. Don’t let him drown.”
Tears were streaming down my face now.
I nodded. “I... I’ll try.”
“Good,” Elias whispered. He kissed my forehead. “Now go. He’s waiting for you in the hall.”
I stood up on shaky legs and walked out.
And there he was.
Damian.
In his wheelchair. In the hallway. Waiting.
Like he’d been waiting for hours.
Like he’d been waiting his whole life.
He looked at my red eyes. At my wet cheeks.
His face went blank. Shut down. Walls up.
“What did he say to you?” Damian asked. His voice was flat.
I swallowed. My throat hurt.
“He told me about your parents,” I whispered. “And about the surgery in Switzerland.”
Damian’s jaw clenched. “Arabella, don’t—”
“Please,” I said. And I knelt in front of his wheelchair. Right there in the hallway.
Just like last night.
I took his hands into mine.
“Please,” I said again. Tears falling. “Let me take care of you. Let me go to Switzerland with you. Let me help you walk again.”
“Not for him,” I whispered. “For you. For me.”
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