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Silas was on his fourth cup when Emory finally took her first drink. Emory smiled softly.

"You're very charismatic. Like you just walked out of a some bodice ripper novel," she whispered.

"But you're immune to my charms?" He asked, his silky voice falling on her skin like a gentle rain. He studied her as she smiled ruefully and shivered at the feeling.

"I think so." Her lithe fingers wrapped around the thin glass stem of her glass. He watched it with envy.

"And why is that?" He mused, his hair falling into his eyes as he looked down at her.

Emory stood, tripping over her feet as she did. "Because I've had this. I've done this—the fairytale with the man I thought I could fix. Spoiler alert: I couldn't. I couldn't fix him and I damn sure can't fix you."

Silas stared down at the amber liquid in his cup, the vortex reflected him. "And do you think...I could deigned be loved as I am? No fixing required?"

Emory went silent for a second before nodding. "Of course. Of course you can, Silas."

He smiled and looked up at her. "Then I have something to look forward to."

She smiled with lament and he offered the same apologetic look back, as if they both knew he was asking if she'd love him and they both heard her silent but resounding no.

But he wasn't sure. She was a giver. That much was clear. Her hands seemed eternally cupped, offering herself to too many. And if it were just him he would take only enough. Only enough not to drain her. Like her husband. Her phone lit up. She glanced at through bleary eyes. Silas sat down next to her as she reached for it, touching her knee.

"Your mothers name?" He muttered.
"Antoinette."
"Your father?"
"Robert."

He smiled squeezing her knee sitting closer. So she needed a little coaxing. But how eager she was to give up her secrets with a little...encouragement. And...wasn't she just needing someone to carry her story for her? And why couldn't it be him? Why shouldn't it?

"Any siblings?"
"None."

He smiles softly, taking the drink for her hand and settling it on the table.

"How old were you when you married?" He asked.

"I was 17."

He nodded and smiled. The foolish whims of a child. He didn't have to respect he decided. She was a woman now and the child who agreed to death do them part had died and emerged as a fully mature woman of her own right.

"So young," he whispered sadly.

She chuckled. "Didn't you get married at nine?"

He raised his brows and chuckled. "I did. And I...didn't regret it. She was best friend, and...to us rather than a couple we thought ourselves best companions on an adventure. The innocent dreams of childhood kept us afloat as long as it did, dying as the sun of maturity rose on the horizon and set on our childhood."

He smiled and sat back. "That's how I know. How young it is, 17. And isn't it wild, even at your age to think of seventeen and how different it was?"

She nodded and sighed. "It seems so long ago. For the life of me...I can't remember why I was so adamant about it. My mom and dad warned me but they couldn't stop me. They tried. Poor things. I can't imagine what I'd do if that were my daughter."

Silas chuckled. "They say your children are the karma you deserve. That they teach you what your parents had to endure to raise you."

She snorted. "Was your daughter your karma?"

Silas sat for a moment trying to conjure his daughters face, smiling despite himself as he did. "Of all the things I deserve...I think I deserved her least of all. She was...brilliant. Beautiful. And so, so kind."

He smiled, but even as the shape of his little girl look form behind his eyes, he lost the details of her face. They were so hazy now. His brow furrowed.

"The love I felt for my child...I don't know of a greater love in this world. And I'm not sure one exists."

Emory looked at broken expression on his face. It didn't seem to be an expression of a man who brutally murdered his child.

"Do you...wish she were here?"

Silas looked down at his hands. "If I could...I would want to hold her one more time. Hug her tight. Smell her hair. And tell her how much I loved her. That we loved her. But no...I would not want her to continue on here, in this existence alone. I would want to carry her to a safe place to rest, knowing she was loved."

He smiled and stood. "Well...I'm sorry...the camera isn't on."

Emory stood as well taking his hand. "Don't be. It's...just between friends."

He stared down at their hands. "Am I your friend, Emory?"

She smiled and nodded. "So far. I think so."

"I see. Thank you. It's a wonderful gift, your friendship. I shall cherish it, always."

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