Chapter 35
Mark
He sat in Dr. Martin’s office, the leather chair creaking under him as he shifted, sunlight streaming through the window to warm the room. The faint tick of a clock marked the seconds, a notepad rustling as Dr. Martin jotted something down. The air felt still, heavy with the thoughts he’d carried in, and he rubbed his hands together, gathering his words.
“I’ve got to tell you,” he started, his voice steady but soft, “all of the advice you’ve given me over the last month—it’s really helped me a lot. I’ve been able to accept my relationship with Ethan, to move forward in a way I didn’t think I could.”
Dr. Martin looked up, his gray eyes sharp but kind behind his glasses, setting his pen down. “I’m glad to hear that, Mark,” he said, his tone warm and encouraging. “What’s changed for you? How do you feel about where you’re at with Ethan now?”
He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “It’s really good. He’s incredible, and we’re starting something together. It’s still in the early stages, you know, just the beginning of us figuring things out. You’ve helped me see I can let myself feel this again, after Jessica. That I don’t have to stay stuck.”
“That’s a big step,” Dr. Martin said, leaning forward slightly. “What’s it been like, letting go of that stuck feeling? What’s different this time?”
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “It’s freeing, mostly. I’ve been talking to you about guilt, about how to honor Jessica without closing myself off. You’ve pushed me to think about what I want, not just what I think I owe her. Ethan’s been a part of that, he’s bringing me back to life. But there’s something I’m still holding back from him, a secret I don’t know how to tell him., and this morning he called me out on it.”
Dr. Martin tilted his head, his voice calm but curious. “A secret? What’s weighing on you there? What’s keeping you from sharing it?”
He fidgeted, his hands clasping tight, and took a breath. “It’s about money—money I’ve got that he doesn’t know about,” he said, his words slow and deliberate. “It’s not mine, not really. It was Jessica’s, and there’s a story behind it I haven’t told him, or you.”
“Go on,” Dr. Martin said, nodding encouragingly.
He leaned back, the chair creaking again, and let the story spill out. “Jessica and I met when we were juniors in college,” he said, his voice softening with memory. “I was this broke kid from Oregon, working nights to pay tuition, and she was—well, she was something else. Beautiful, smart, full of life. She came from this wealthy family in Dallas, the Caldwells—real estate moguls who owned half the high-rises there. They were old money. Her parents thought I was nothing, neither pedigree nor status nor future. They told her they’d cut her off if she married me—they wanted her with some society guy, not a nobody like me. They always treated her as a trophy; her brother was the golden child and was the light of her parents’ eyes, and Jessica was always an afterthought. She once told me that my love was so strong that it filled the void of three other people in her life.”
Dr. Martin raised an eyebrow, his pen hovering over the pad. “That’s a bold choice she made, walking away from all that. What did that mean for her—for you both?”
“It meant everything,” he said, his voice firm. “She left it all behind at twenty-four, chose me over their fortune. We got married in a little courthouse nine months later, built a life here in Brookings with what we had—my law degree, her interior design. For years, it was just us, no looking back. Then, everything changed.”
“What happened?” Dr. Martin asked, his tone gentle but pressing. “What shifted?”
He swallowed, the memory sharp and heavy. “Her family died—all of them,” he said, his voice dropping. “Her parents, Richard and Evelyn, and her older brother, Thomas, were on their yacht, the Caldwell Crest , off the Gulf of Mexico. It was a big party—investors, friends, fourteen people total. A storm hit, sank the boat in minutes. It was all over the news back then—‘The Caldwell Catastrophe,’ they called it. Jessica was the only one left, thirty-five years old, and suddenly she inherited everything—in the end she got two billion dollars from her family’s real estate empire.”
Dr. Martin leaned back, his expression thoughtful. “That’s a staggering turn of events,” he said, his voice measured. “How did Jessica handle that kind of windfall, especially after cutting ties?”
“She didn’t want it,” he said, shaking his head. “She felt guilty—her family died, and she’d walked away from them and for over ten years there was no contact, and now here was all this money she’d rejected. The cancer was in stage four when the news came. She wanted her family fortune to mean something. She gave away a huge chunk—half of it—to cancer charities. We set up a foundation in her name before she died. She created an endowment for Pawsitive Vibes in honor of her friend Linda and wanted me to keep the rest for my future. When she died four years ago, she left me seven hundred million. That’s the secret—Ethan doesn’t know I’ve got that sitting there.”
Dr. Martin paused, setting his pen down fully, his gaze steady. “That’s quite a story, Mark,” he said, his voice quiet. “Seven hundred million dollars—it’s a lot to carry, especially tied to so much loss. Why haven’t you told Ethan yet? What’s holding you back?”
He fell silent, the weight of the question settling over him, Jessica’s story laid bare between them. The full truth of his wealth hung in the air—her family’s Dallas high-rises, the yacht sinking in the Gulf, the billions she reshaped and left behind—and Dr. Martin’s pen rested still, waiting. His hands tightened, the room’s stillness pressing in, a question echoing unspoken: what would this mean for Ethan, for them?
He leaned forward in the leather chair, the creak loud in the quiet of Dr. Martin’s office, sunlight warming the room though clouds dulled it briefly outside. The steady tick of the clock filled the pause after Jessica’s story, Dr. Martin’s pen resting still, his gray eyes waiting. He rubbed his palms together, the weight of his secret settled deeper, and took a breath, pushing into the next piece.
“There’s more going on now,” he said, his voice low but clear, meeting Dr. Martin’s gaze. “Ethan’s family—they’ve been through hell. Their house caught fire a couple of weeks ago and burned the kitchen and garage to nothing. They’re living with me now, Ethan, his mom, Martha, and his dad, Joseph. It’s been rough.”
Dr. Martin nodded, his expression attentive. “That sounds like a lot to take on,” he said, his voice calm but inviting. “What happened with the fire? How are they holding up?”
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “It was a grease fire—started in the kitchen, got out of control fast,” he said, his tone steady but heavy. “Martha’s a mess, blaming herself, and Joseph’s trying to keep it together, but you can see it’s wearing him down. Ethan’s been strong for them, but it’s hitting him too. They lost almost everything, and I couldn’t let them scramble for a hotel or something—so they’re with me, at my place.”
“That’s generous of you,” Dr. Martin said, jotting a note, his voice gentle. “How does it feel, having them there? What’s it bringing up for you?”
He shifted, his hands clasping tight, and looked down for a moment. “Every time I see Martha, it’s like looking at Jessica all over again,” he said, his voice catching slightly. “She’s frail, worn out, just like Jessica was when I was caring for her during the cancer. It hurts—I want to help them, to take care of them. Ethan’s proud, though, really proud. He’s always the one looking out for everyone else—his parents, his team, even me sometimes. I don’t want to be the white knight who swoops in and saves the day for him, but part of me does.”
Dr. Martin tilted his head, his tone probing but kind. “You’re torn between helping and stepping back,” he said. “What’s driving that urge to help? And what’s holding you back from being that ‘white knight’?”
He swallowed, the truth spilling out raw. “I care about them—about him—so much,” he said, his voice firm but strained. “Seeing Martha like that, it’s this ache I can’t shake, this need to make it right. But Ethan’s not the type to want saving—he’d hate it if I took over. And I’ve been lying to him about it. He thinks my firm’s covering all the help—the costs, the rebuild—but it’s me, my money. I don’t want to lie anymore, but I don’t know how to tell him.”
I can’t lose him over this.
Dr. Martin set his pen down, leaning forward, his voice steady. “That’s a heavy secret to carry, Mark,” he said, his words measured. “You’re funding this help yourself, not the firm—why haven’t you told him the truth yet? What’s the fear there?”
He rubbed his face, his hands restless, and met Dr. Martin’s eyes. “I don’t want him to see me differently,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “Right now, I’m just Mark to him—the guy he’s building something with, not some millionaire throwing cash around. If he knows about the money—Jessica’s money—it might change everything. He might think I’m trying to buy him or his family, and that’s not what this is. But I can’t keep lying—it’s eating at me.”
Dr. Martin nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “You’re worried about how it’ll shift your relationship,” he said, his tone even. “What do you think Ethan values in you now? And how do you imagine he’d react if he knew—not just the money, but why you’ve kept it quiet?”
He paused, the questions sinking in, and his throat tightened. “I think he values me for being real, for being there,” he said slowly, piecing it together. “He’s proud, but he’s open-hearted—he might understand if I told him right. But I don’t know how to start that conversation. I’ve been dodging it, letting him believe the firm’s doing it all, and it feels wrong. What should I do, how do I tell him without messing this up?”
“Mark, I can’t tell you exactly what to say to Ethan,” he said, his words deliberate, “but I can tell you that you know you must tell him. If you’re serious about this relationship, you will have to be honest and share your feelings. You need to ask Ethan for forgiveness for lying and see where the relationship goes from here.”
He swallowed hard, his hands gripping the arms of the chair, the leather creaking under his fingers. Dr. Martin’s advice landed like a stone, solid and unyielding, and he felt his chest tighten, the weight of the lie pressing heavier. “What if he doesn’t forgive me?” he asked, his voice low, almost a whisper. “What if it changes everything?”
Dr. Martin nodded, acknowledging the fear, his tone softening but still sure. “He may not forgive you—that’s a possibility you have to face,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “But if everything you’ve told me about him is true—his open heart, his strength, the way he cares—I think there’s a good chance you two will be able to move forward and build something real. What do you think Ethan would value more: the truth, even if it’s messy, or a lie that keeps things easy?”
He let the question settle, his grip loosening as he thought of Ethan—his steady green eyes, the way he’d held his family together through the fire, the quiet trust he’d offered last night in bed. “The truth,” he said finally, his voice steadying. “He’d want the truth. He’s not someone who runs from hard things—he faces them head-on. I just don’t want him to think I’m trying to fix him or his family with money.”
Dr. Martin smiled faintly, a rare warmth breaking through his usual calm. “That’s a good place to start, then,” he said, his voice encouraging. “You know him well—trust that. Tell him why you kept it quiet, what it means to you, and let him decide how he feels. You’ve built something with him already, Mark, something honest beneath this one secret. If he’s the man you say he is, he’ll see your heart in this—not just the dollars.”
He nodded, the tightness in his chest easing, a flicker of relief cutting through the nerves. “I hope you’re right,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “I want this to work—I want us to work. He’s brought me back to life in ways I didn’t think were possible.”
Dr. Martin picked up his pen again, jotting a quick note, his tone lifting slightly. “Hold onto that, Mark,” he said, his words carrying a quiet promise. “You’re not just carrying Jessica’s memory now—you’re building something new, something alive. Ethan’s open heart might surprise you. Think about that—he’s already chosen you, knowing the man you are today. Give him the chance to choose you with the whole story.”
The sunlight shifted, casting long shadows across the room as clouds drifted past, and he sat back, Dr. Martin’s words echoing in his mind. The clock ticked on, a steady rhythm grounding him, and he felt lighter, the weight of the secret softening under the possibility of Ethan’s forgiveness. His hands rested still, the lie’s burden easing, and a fragile hope ignited in his chest—Ethan’s laughter, his strength, a beacon he could trust. The path ahead stretched uncertain but bright, and he nodded once more, a quiet resolve settling in, ready to face the truth with the man he loved.