All Chapters of His Greatest Regret: Chapter 1 - Chapter 6

TARIIKThe corner office on the fortieth floor looks out over Manhattan like it belongs to me—because it does now. Floor-to-ceiling windows, a mahogany desk that used to be my father’s, the Bennett & Stone logo etched into the glass door behind me in gold lettering. My father built this firm from nothing. I’ve spent the last six years making sure it doesn’t die with him.I lean back in my chair, tie loosened, sleeves rolled to the forearm, and turn the small silver frame over in my hand. Elena. Twenty-six in the photo, laughing at something off-camera, sunlight catching the gold in her brown hair. I keep it in my desk drawer, not on the desk itself—Sophia doesn’t need another reason to look at me like that. I only take it out when the office empties and the building goes quiet like this, when there’s nothing left to perform for anyone.Elena and I were supposed to build something together. Different plans, different clients, the same late nights at the drafting table, arguing over sig

TARIKThe conference room on thirty-eight is full by ten, associates and senior partners packed around the table for the Hendricks Tower kickoff, and I’m at the head of it walking the room through phase one of the build. It’s the kind of morning I used to live for — the room hanging on every word, every question landing exactly where I want it to.“You’ve got it all, man,” Greg says afterward, clapping me on the back as the room clears out. Greg’s been at the firm almost as long as I have, VP of client relations, the kind of guy who says exactly what everyone else is thinking. “Biggest deal of the year, beautiful wife, great kid at home. You’re living the dream, Tarik. The perfect life.”I smile. I don’t correct him.It’s easier not to.My phone buzzes against the table — three, then four times in a row. Sophia. I glance at the preview without opening it. Malik loved the gifts. Thank you for remembering, even late. Then, a minute later: He wants to know when you’re coming home tonight

SOPHIA“He’s going to be here, right?” Malik asks for the third time, standing on his tiptoes to see out the front window, his small palms pressed flat against the glass.“He promised, baby,” I say it with more confidence than I feel, sliding the sweet potatoes into the oven. Tarik called this morning, actually called instead of texting, and told me he’d cleared his afternoon. I’ll be there by four. I promise, Sophia. This one I mean.I check the clock. Four-thirty.By five, Malik has stopped standing at the window and started asking me every ten minutes if Daddy’s car is the one pulling up outside. It never is.By six, we sit down to eat without him. My mother says grace, and when she gets to the part about family, I watch Malik glance at the empty chair beside me and then quickly look down at his plate, like he’s embarrassed for noticing it too.“He’s just working,” Malik says quietly, to no one in particular, pushing a piece of turkey around his plate. “He lives at work.”My mother