The silence was heavier than ever in the empty mansion.
Lucian paced the main hall, shuffling his feet, as if the marble beneath his boots burned. The curtains were drawn, the light barely touched the edges of the family portraits. Everything smelled of the past, of abandonment. As if the house itself understood that something -someone- had left, never to return.
Ana.
Her name felt like a dagger on his tongue every time he whispered it.
Lucian stopped in front of the hall mirror. He stared at himself for a long moment. He was not the same man Ana had known. Not the same one who manipulated her with caresses disguised as tenderness, who kept her close with empty promises and invisible chains.
He was a broken reflection. And for the first time, she saw it... and hated it.
She turned sharply and climbed the stairs to her study. He pulled a wooden box from the back of the closet, one that had belonged to his mother. Inside were letters, old photographs... and a worn notebook with his name written in smudged ink: Lucian Vasiliev.
He opened it with trembling hands.
The first pages were written in childish handwriting, then more adult, and finally almost illegible. On those pages were the fragments of his life: the screams of his father, the coldness of maternal absence, the comparisons with Viktoria, the humiliations covered up by strict education. Each word was an unclosed wound. Every line, a badly healed scar.
-That's how I was taught to love..." he murmured, and his voice broke.
He remembered Ana. He remembered her laughter when she still believed in him. Her look when she called him "her salvation". He remembered the exact moment when she looked at him one last time with hope...before that light was extinguished.
Lucian pressed the notebook to his chest and sank into the chair. For the first time in years, he cried.
And it wasn't for him.
It was for her.
A week later, Lucian showed up in the small town where Ana was taking refuge. He didn't come with escorts or his designer coat. He dressed plain, tired, and wore dark circles under his eyes that told more than his lips would say.
Ana saw him from the porch. Her heart reacted before her mind.
-What are you doing here? -she asked emotionlessly, standing her ground.
Lucian held up his hands, like someone on trial.
-I'm not here to ask you for anything," he said hoarsely. I come to admit that I failed you. That I failed myself. That I used you to fill a void I didn't even know I had... and that when I had you, I didn't know how to take care of you.
Ana didn't answer. Her eyes were fixed on him, but her soul remained sheltered behind high walls.
Lucian lowered his gaze, swallowed saliva.
-I know you won't believe me. Not now. Maybe never. But I want you to know that I'm trying to change... not for you. But for me. Because for the first time in my life, I saw myself through your eyes. And I didn't like what I saw.
There was a thick silence. A crow cawed in the distance. Life went on.
Ana slowly descended the steps. She was in front of him. Close, but not as close as before.
-And you think that with a few words you can fix everything you broke? -She asked sternly. Do you think it's enough to cry and apologize?
Lucian shook his head slowly.
-No. But it's a start.
She watched him for a few eternal seconds. Then she stepped back.
-Then start away from me.
And with that, she closed the door.
Lucian didn't move. Not out of pride, but because he understood that sometimes, in order to come back... first you have to leave completely.
That was the price of his redemption.
And he would pay it.