Chapter 8 - Over the Aegean
The flight across the Atlantic and over the Mediterranean was a blur of turbulent skies and heavy contemplation. Lily sat by the oval window, transfixed by the endless carpet of clouds beneath them. Every hour, she would reach into her small backpack to make sure the faded photographs of her mother—retrieved from David’s old safe—were still there.
David watched her profile, seeing Clara’s gentle jawline and inquisitive brow mirrored in their daughter. How had he allowed himself to be so blind? For four years, he had buried himself in quarterly earnings reports, luxury galas, and corporate acquisitions, convincing himself that professional success was the only way to honor his grief. In reality, he had been hiding behind work because facing the silence of his life was too painful.
Eleanor had exploited that cowardice brilliantly. She had stepped into the void, dictating his schedule, managing Lily’s schooling, and orchestrating their isolation with surgical precision.
As the plane began its descent over the sparkling blue waters of the Thermaic Gulf, Lily tapped his arm.
"Daddy? What if Mommy forgot what I look like?"
David smiled gently, taking her small hand in his. "Mothers don't forget their babies, Lily. Not even for one second. Every letter she wrote had your name on every single page."
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"Did she write about my ribbon?"
"She wrote about your laugh," David said softly. "She wrote that she could still hear it across the ocean."
