His voice was empty.
“She saw him.”
Elena swallowed.
“She believed it might have been him.”
“She could've told me.”
Elena looked toward the letter.
“She tried.”
Gideon shook his head.
“Not hard enough.”
His expression darkened.
“For ten years, I thought I'd sent my brother to his death. I searched every ridge. Every ravine. Every frozen stream.”
His voice rose.
“And he was alive at a freight station twenty miles away?”
Elena reached for his hand.
He pulled away.
Not angrily.
But with the sudden movement of a man who couldn't bear being touched while his world collapsed.
She let him go.
For several minutes, he paced between the shelves.
Then he stopped.
His eyes were wet.
“I could've found him.”
Elena remained silent.
He looked toward the letter.
“I could've gone there. I could've brought him home.”
His voice broke.
“God, Elena. I could've saved him years ago.”
She slowly stood.
“Gideon.”
He turned.
Her expression was gentle but firm.
“You were told he was dead.”
He shook his head.
“I should've known.”
“How?”
He didn't answer.
She moved closer.
“You searched for weeks. You nearly died yourself.”
His scarred face twisted.
“That wasn't enough.”
Elena took a breath.
“Nothing would ever have felt like enough after losing him.”
For several seconds, Gideon stared.
Then she continued.
“You're looking at ten years of things you know now and punishing the man you were for not knowing them then.”
His breathing changed.
Elena's eyes filled.
“That isn't justice.”
Gideon looked away.
She waited.
Then he whispered, “What if Matthew thinks I abandoned him?”
The words revealed the fear beneath everything else.
Not anger at Lydia.
Not even hatred of Rusk.
Gideon was terrified that Matthew believed his brother had stopped caring.
Elena stepped closer.
“Then you tell him the truth.”
He looked toward her.
“You tell him you searched. You tell him you never forgot.”
Her voice softened.
“And you give him the chance to believe you.”
Gideon stared at her.
Then slowly lowered his head.
Elena opened her arms.
For a moment, he hesitated.
Then he stepped toward her and rested his forehead against her shoulder.
She held him as best she could, her full arms wrapping around his broad back while his shoulders shook with grief.
For years, people had believed Gideon Hale incapable of tenderness.
Yet here he stood, crying against the shoulder of a woman who had once believed no man would ever want to hold her.