His File on Me

The study felt different in the morning light.

Rex sat behind his desk. His sleeves were rolled up. His hair was messy. He had not slept. Neither had I.

The door was closed. The windows were covered. The only light came from a single lamp on the desk.

"Sit down," he said.

"I would rather stand."

"You are going to want to sit for this."

I sat.

Rex opened a drawer. Pulled out a thick folder. Brown. Worn. Held together with a rubber band.

"What is that?"

"Your file."

"My file?"

"I have been keeping it for ten years. Ever since your mother asked me to watch over you."

"You have a file on me?"

Rex slid the folder across the desk.

"Everything. Every photograph. Every report. Every secret."

I stared at the folder. Did not touch it.

"Why are you showing me this now?"

"Because you asked for no more secrets. No more lies."

"So you are giving me your file?"

"I am giving you everything."

I pulled the rubber band off the folder.

Opened it.

The first page was a photograph. Me. Age thirteen. Standing in the garden. The roses behind me. My mother's roses. I was wearing a white dress. My hair was down. I was not smiling.

"Where did you get this?"

"I took it. The day your mother died. You were standing in the garden. Alone. I watched you for an hour."

"I did not see you."

"I know."

I turned the page.

Another photograph. Me. Age fourteen. At school. Walking across the courtyard. Books in my arms.

"You followed me?"

"I watched over you. There is a difference."

"Not to me."

I turned the page.

Age fifteen. At a coffee shop. Sitting alone. Reading a book.

Age sixteen. In the city. Walking down the street. Looking over my shoulder.

Age seventeen. At a party. Standing in the corner. Not talking to anyone.

Age eighteen. At a hospital. The day I had my tubes tied.

I stopped.

"You have a photograph of that?"

"I have photographs of everything."

"Who took it?"

"I did."

"You were there? At the hospital?"

"I was always there, Mira. Watching. Waiting. Making sure you were safe."

"That is not watching. That is stalking."

"It is protection."

"It is obsession."

Rex leaned forward. His eyes were dark.

"Yes. It is. I am obsessed with you. I have been obsessed with you since you were sixteen years old. Standing in the garden. Looking at the sky. Looking so sad and so beautiful that I could not breathe."

"You should have talked to me."

"I could not. Your mother asked me to stay in the shadows."

"My mother asked you to do a lot of things."

"Yes. She did."

I turned the page.

Age nineteen. At a bar. Drinking alone.

Age twenty. In an apartment. My first apartment. The one I shared with no one.

Age twenty-one. At a cemetery. My mother's grave. The fake one.

Age twenty-two. In a library. Reading. Researching. Planning.

Age twenty-three. At the hotel. The night of the wedding.

The last photograph was me. In the hotel room. Sitting on the bed. The wedding dress on the floor. The contract in my hand.

I closed the folder.

"There are more," Rex said.

"I have seen enough."

"You have not seen everything."

"What else is there?"

Rex reached into the drawer. Pulled out another folder. Thinner. Newer.

"This one is from the past three months. Since the wedding."

I opened it.

Photographs of me in the house. In the kitchen. In the garden. In the bedroom.

Photographs of me sleeping.

"Rex..."

"I know. It is too much."

"Yes. It is too much."

"I am trying to be honest with you."

"Honest would have been telling me about the file before the wedding. Honest would have been asking permission. Honest would have been trusting me."

"I did not trust you then."

"Do you trust me now?"

"Yes."

"Then burn the files."

Rex stared at me.

"Burn them. All of them. Every photograph. Every report. Every secret. Burn them."

"You are serious."

"I have never been more serious."

Rex stood up. Walked to the fireplace. Knelt down.

"Bring the files."

I picked up both folders. Walked to him. Handed them over.

He placed them in the fireplace. Struck a match. Held it to the paper.

The flames grew. The photographs curled. Blackened. Turned to ash.

I watched.

Rex watched.

Neither of us spoke.

When the fire died, Rex stood up. Turned to face me.

"It is done."

"It is not done. You still have the information in your head. The memories. The secrets."

"I cannot burn those."

"I know."

"Then what do you want from me?"

I walked to him. Took his hands.

"I want you to stop watching me from the shadows. I want you to stand beside me. In the light."

"I am trying."

"Try harder."

He pulled me close. Kissed my forehead.

"I love you, Mira."

"I know."

"Do you love me?"

I did not answer.

Because I was not sure.

My phone buzzed.

Lin.

Victor is awake. He is asking for you.

I showed the message to Rex.

"He wants to see you."

"Then I will go."

"Alone?"

"Yes. He is in a hospital bed. He cannot hurt me."

"He can always hurt you. With words. With secrets. With the truth."

"Then I will listen. And I will walk away."

"I am coming with you."

"No. You stay here. Protect the house. Protect my mother. Protect Lin."

"Mira..."

"I will be fine."

I walked to the door.

"Mira."

I turned.

Rex was standing by the fireplace. The ashes of my file at his feet.

"I am sorry. For the file. For the photographs. For the watching."

"I know."

"I am sorry for not trusting you sooner."

"I know."

"I am sorry for everything."

I walked back to him. Kissed him. Soft. Gentle.

"I know."

I walked out the door.

The hospital was white.

White walls. White floors. White lights. The smell of antiseptic and pain.

Victor was in a private room. At the end of the hall. Guards at the door. Rex's guards. They nodded when they saw me. Let me pass.

Victor was in the bed.

His chest was bandaged. His arm was in a sling. His face was pale. His eyes were open.

"Mira," he said. His voice was weak. "You came."

"The guards said you were asking for me."

"I was."

"Why?"

Victor smiled. It was a sad smile.

"Because I am dying, Mira. The doctors say I have a few days. Maybe a week. And I did not want to die without seeing you one last time."

"You should have thought of that before you tried to kill my mother."

"I was not trying to kill your mother. I was trying to protect her."

"From what?"

"From herself. From the truth. From the people who want her dead."

"What people?"

Victor coughed. Blood on his lips.

"Drake is not working alone," he said. "There is someone else. Someone higher. Someone who has been pulling the strings from the beginning."

"Who?"

"I do not know. I never knew. I just followed orders."

"You followed orders? You? Victor Thorne?"

"I am not the man you think I am, Mira. I am not the monster. I am not the villain. I am just a man who made terrible choices because he was afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

Victor looked at me. His eyes were wet.

"Afraid of losing you."

I sat down in the chair beside his bed.

"Tell me everything," I said.

"From the beginning?"

"From the beginning."

Victor closed his eyes. Took a breath.

"Your mother and I were happy once. Before you. Before the lies. Before the betrayal. We loved each other. Really loved each other."

"What happened?"

"Drake's father happened. He wanted the empire. He wanted your mother. He wanted everything Victor had."

"So he killed you?"

"He tried. He failed. But he planted doubts. Lies. Made your mother think I was the enemy."

"And she believed him?"

"She was scared. Alone. Pregnant with you. She did not know who to trust."

"So she turned to Drake's father?"

"Yes."

"Did she love him?"

Victor opened his eyes. Looked at me.

"I do not know. I like to think she did not. But I do not know."

The room was silent.

The machines beeped. The clock ticked.

"Where is Drake's father now?" I asked.

"Dead. Rex killed him. Years ago. Before Rex was even the boss."

"Rex killed him?"

"He was protecting your mother. Drake's father was going to kill her. Rex stopped him."

"Rex never told me that."

"Rex never tells anyone anything. He keeps secrets. Just like your mother. Just like me."

"You are all the same."

"Yes. We are. That is why you need to be different."

"Different how?"

Victor reached out. Took my hand. His grip was weak.

"Do not keep secrets, Mira. Do not lie. Do not manipulate. Love openly. Trust fully. Forgive easily."

"That is not how the world works."

"It is how love works."

I looked at him. At the man who raised me. The man who scared me. The man who loved me. In his own way.

"I forgive you," I said.

Victor's eyes filled with tears.

"Thank you."

"Do not thank me. Thank my mother. She taught me how to forgive."

"Your mother is a good woman."

"Yes. She is."

Victor closed his eyes.

"I am tired, Mira. I need to rest."

"I will come back tomorrow."

"Do not bother. I will be dead by then."

"Victor..."

He squeezed my hand.

"Tell your mother I am sorry. For everything."

"Tell her yourself."

"I cannot. She will not come."

"Then I will make her."

Victor smiled. Closed his eyes.

I stood up. Walked to the door.

"Mira."

I turned.

"I am proud of you. The woman you have become. The woman you are becoming. I am proud."

I did not know what to say.

So I said nothing.

I walked out the door.

My mother was waiting in the hallway.

Her face was pale. Her hands were shaking.

"You heard?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Will you go see him?"

"No."

"He is dying."

"I know."

"He asked me to tell you he is sorry."

My mother looked at me. Her eyes were wet.

"I am sorry too," she said. "For everything."

I took her hand.

"Then tell him. Before it is too late."

She looked at the door. Then at me.

"Come with me?"

"Of course."

We walked into the room together.

Victor opened his eyes. Saw her. Smiled.

"You came."

"I came."

"I am sorry."

"I know."

They looked at each other.

Two people who had loved each other. Two people who had hurt each other. Two people who were running out of time.

I walked to the window. Gave them space.

The sun was setting. Pink and gold.

Behind me, I heard my mother cry.

I did not turn around.