---- Chapter 18 Ethan became a ghost, haunting the periphery of Amelia' s new life. He learned her schedule, her favorite coffee shop, the route she walked to her new studio in SoHo. He would watch her from a distance, a desperate, unseen voyeur, his heart aching with a longing that was both pathetic and profound. He didn't know what he hoped to achieve. A glimpse of her, a word, a sign that she still felt something, anything, for him. But her serenity, her quiet confidence, her obvious happiness with Mark - it was a constant, brutal torment. He saw her one evening at a gallery opening, on Mark' s arm. She wore a simple, elegant black dress of her own design, her hair swept up, revealing the graceful curve of her neck. She was laughing, her eyes sparkling, her entire being radiating a warmth, a vitality, he had never seen in her before. She was a stranger, a beautiful, confident woman he didn't recognize. And the man beside her, Mark Donovan, looked at her with an ---- adoration, a respect, that Ethan knew he had never shown her. The pain was a physical blow, stealing his breath. He couldn't stop himself. He approached them, his heart hammering, his palms sweating. "Amelia," he said, his voice raspy. She turned, her smile fading slightly, replaced by that familiar, cool politeness. "Ethan. What a surprise." Her voice was calm, devoid of emotion. As if he were a casual acquaintance she' d bumped into. Mark' s arm tightened around her waist, his expression wary, protective Mark started to speak, to shield her, but Amelia placed a hand on his arm, a silent request. She would handle this. She looked at Ethan, her gaze steady, unwavering. "Is there something you wanted, Ethan?" Her composure, her utter lack of fear or anger, it unnerved him. This wasn't the Amelia he knew, the Amelia he could manipulate, could wound. This was a woman he didn't know how to reach. Suddenly, the carefully constructed dam of Ethan' s control ---- broke. He sank to his knees, there in the crowded gallery, oblivious to the shocked stares, the sudden hush. "Amelia," he choked out, his voice thick with unshed tears. "Amelia, please. Forgive me." He reached for her hand, his fingers trembling. "| was a fool. A monster. | didn't see... | didn't understand... I'm so sorry. For everything." The public humiliation, the degradation - it meant nothing. Only she mattered. He would have crawled through fire, through broken glass, for a flicker of forgiveness in her eyes. Amelia looked down at him, at the once proud, arrogant Ethan Caldwell, now a broken man at her feet. There was no triumph in her expression, no satisfaction. Only a profound, weary sadness. "Ethan," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "Get up. You're making a scene." She didn't pull her hand away, but she didn't offer any comfort either. "Some things, Ethan," she continued, her voice barely a whisper, "cannot be undone. Some wounds cannot be healed by apologies." ---- Her words were a death knell to his desperate hope. "But... a second chance?" he pleaded, his voice cracking. "Just one more chance, Amelia. |'ll do anything. I'll change. I'll be the man you always deserved." He clung to her hand, a drowning man grasping at a phantom lifeline. He saw the pity in her eyes, and it was more painful than any anger. Amelia gently withdrew her hand. She looked at him, a long, searching gaze, as if seeing him for the first time, and the last. "| loved you once, Ethan," she said, her voice soft, reflective. "More than life itself. | would have done anything for you, endured anything. And | did." A faint, sad smile touched her lips. "But | learned something, Ethan. True love isn't about endless sacrifice, about erasing yourself for someone else. It's about respect. Partnership. And loving yourself enough to walk away when that isn't there." She took a deep breath. "The Amelia who loved you is gone, Ethan. You killed her. And |... | have moved on." Ethan stared at her, the finality of her words crashing down on him. ---- Moved on. He saw a flash of memory: Amelia, years ago, on their disastrous honeymoon, her eyes shining with a naive, hopeful love as she handed him a clumsily wrapped gift - a first edition of his favorite author. He had barely glanced at it, already irritated by her presence, by the unwanted marriage. "If only..." the words died in his throat. If only he had seen. If only he had cherished. The weight of his irreversible loss was a crushing, unbearable burden. Amelia turned, taking Mark' s offered arm They walked away, disappearing into the glittering crowd, leaving Ethan kneeling on the cold marble floor, alone with his shame, his regret, and the ghosts of what might have been. The gallery, once filled with light and laughter, now seemed dark, oppressive, a tomb for his dead hopes. He was a ruined man, in a ruined life. And it was all his own doing.