Liam's calendar notification chimed at 7:30 AM.
Reminder: Dr. Kim - 8:00 AM
He closed the quarterly report he'd been staring at without reading for the past hour. The numbers blurred together. Same as yesterday. Same as every morning since the awards ceremony.
Coffee gone cold in its mug. Manhattan dawn gray through floor-to-ceiling windows.
Therapy. Again. Dr. Kim would ask about the nightmares, about sleep, about the medication.
He wouldn't tell her he'd had the Isabella nightmare three times this week.
Liam was reaching for his jacket when his office door opened without a knock.
Morris.
The private investigator never showed up unannounced unless he'd found something. Three years of false leads had taught Liam to read Morris's expressions. Today's: grim determination mixed with pity.
Therapy could wait.
"Just tell me," Liam said.
Morris pulled out a manila folder. Set it on the desk. "Found the mother. Imelda Grace Gomez. Death certificate. Kidney failure. Asheville, North Carolina. Twelve years ago."
Liam's chest tightened. Isabella would've been twenty-one. Alone.
First real lead in three years.
"And Isabella?"
Morris hesitated. "Nothing."
"How?" The word came out sharper than intended.
"People disappear if they want to." Morris avoided his gaze. "Or if they're dead and no one reported it. Or if they changed their name."
"She's not dead."
"Mr. Ashford—"
"She's not dead." Liam moved to the window. Stared out at the city waking up. "There would be a record."
"Not if she died somewhere rural. Homeless. No ID. It happens more than you think."
"Keep looking."
Morris sighed. "Three years. Seventeen Isabella Gomezes tracked down. None of them were her. The trail goes cold after she turned twenty-one. Like she walked off the edge of the earth."
"Check hospitals, shelters, employment records—"
"I've done all that." Morris's voice gentled. "I can't find someone who doesn't want to be found."
"Double your rate. Triple it. Just find her."
"Why?" Morris crossed his arms. "What's so important about this girl?"
Because I failed her. Because I was nineteen and chose my father over doing the right thing. Because she was my first love and I called her a liar when she needed me to be brave.
"Personal reasons," Liam said instead.
"Must be pretty personal to throw money at a ghost for three years."
"She's not a ghost."
Morris moved toward the door. Paused with his hand on the handle. "One more thing. If she legally changed her name—court order, new social security number—those records can be sealed. If Isabella Gomez wanted to become someone else, she could. And we'd never know."
The door closed.
Liam stood there for a long moment, staring at the manila folder. Death certificate. Kidney failure. A woman who'd worked for his family for years, died alone in North Carolina because his father had destroyed her.
And her daughter—gone. Vanished. Maybe dead. Maybe alive and deliberately hiding.
He checked his watch. 7:52. Eight minutes to get to Dr. Kim's office.
He grabbed his keys and left.
***
Dr. Kim's office was cream walls, expensive art, a couch that was both comfortable and intimidating. Three years of therapy. Three years of Friday mornings in this room.
"Liam." Dr. Kim smiled. Mid-fifties, warm but sharp. The kind of therapist who saw through bullshit. "How are you?"
"Fine."
"Try again."
Liam sank into the couch. Ran his hand through his hair. "Tired. Morris found Isabella's mother's death certificate this morning."
Dr. Kim's expression softened. "That must have been difficult."
"She died twelve years ago. Kidney failure. Still no trace of Isabella."
"And how does that make you feel?"
"Like I'm searching for a ghost." Liam stared at his hands. "Morris thinks she might have changed her name. Legal name change. Sealed records. We'd never find her."
"Do you want to stop searching?"
"No."
"Why not?"
Because I owe her. Because I was a coward.
"Because I need to know she's okay." His voice came out rough. "Because I need to apologize. Face to face. Tell her I was wrong."
Dr. Kim made a note. "You've been searching for three years. Considerable resources. And you still haven't told me what your father threatened you with that night."
Liam's hands curled into fists.
"He said he'd destroy her mother. Get her deported. Ruin her." His voice dropped. "And he'd cut me off. Disown me. Make sure I never worked in tech. I was nineteen."
"You were a teenager being threatened by an abusive parent."
"I was old enough to know better."
"You were also a victim, Liam."
"Don't." The word came out sharp. "Don't make me a victim. I had choices. Isabella didn't."
Silence.
"What was Isabella to you?" Dr. Kim asked quietly.
Liam's throat tightened. "She was my first love. I was sixteen when I realized it. Too scared to tell her because she was the housekeeper's daughter and my father would've—" He stopped. "But I loved her. And when she needed me, I chose my father."
"So this isn't just about guilt."
"It's about being a coward when the person you loved needed you to be brave."
Dr. Kim set down her pen. "What if you never find her?"
"Then I keep looking."
"For how long?"
"As long as it takes."
"That's not sustainable, Liam. You can't spend your entire life searching for someone who may not want to be found."
"I don't care."
"The nightmares. Are they still happening?"
Every night. "Sometimes."
"How often is sometimes?"
"Four, five times a week."
"And you're still only sleeping three to four hours?"
"Sometimes less."
"The medication I prescribed—"
"I'm taking it. Doesn't help enough."
"I can increase the dosage—"
"No." Liam's voice was firm. "I don't want to become dependent. My father drank. A lot. I watched what that did to him. I'm not going down that road."
"Prescribed medication for a sleep disorder isn't the same as alcohol abuse."
"It's still a crutch."
"You're running yourself into the ground." Dr. Kim leaned forward. "You've had two panic attacks in six months. You work sixteen-hour days. You're barely functioning."
"I'm functioning fine."
"Are you?" She paused. "Has anything changed recently? New stress?"
Liam thought of last night. Aurora Castillo across the table at Le Cirque. The red dress. The way she'd systematically dismantled his father's legacy with surgical precision.
"I had dinner last night," he said finally. "With Aurora Castillo. CEO of Rora AI. My main competitor."
"The one who won the award that broke your family's streak."
"Yeah." Liam leaned back. "I thought... I don't know what I thought. That maybe we could find common ground. Build something collaborative instead of constantly trying to destroy each other."
"And did you?"
"No." He laughed without humor. "She spent half the dinner telling me my father built his empire on cruelty. That companies like Ashford Technologies are fundamentally corrupt. That I inherited success I didn't earn."
"And that bothered you."
"Of course it bothered me. She doesn't know anything about—" He stopped. "She's not entirely wrong. My father did terrible things. But she said it like it was personal. Like she had some specific grudge against him."
"And how did that make you feel?"
"Defensive. Angry." Liam paused. "But also... exposed. Like she could see right through me. Like she'd already decided I was guilty of something."
Dr. Kim was quiet for a moment. "Liam, do you think it's possible you're projecting Isabella onto this woman?"
"What?"
"You've spent fifteen years feeling guilty about what happened to Isabella. You're searching for her desperately. And now you meet a woman who treats you with suspicion, who criticizes your father, who seems to have a personal grudge—"
"You think I'm imagining connections that aren't there."
"I'm saying that when we carry guilt, we become hypersensitive to judgment. Aurora's criticism of your father probably has everything to do with industry knowledge and nothing to do with personal history. But your mind might be connecting them because you want Isabella to confront you. You want someone to hold you accountable."
Liam was quiet.
Because she might be right.
"At the end of dinner, I asked if we could do it again," he said quietly. "She said yes."
"Why did you ask?"
"I don't know." He rubbed his face. "Maybe because I want to prove to her that I'm not my father. That I'm different. That I'm trying to be better."
"Liam, you can't earn forgiveness from Aurora for what you did to Isabella. They're separate people."
"I know."
"Do you? Because it sounds like you're trying to prove something to a woman you barely know. Like if you can get her to respect you, somehow that'll mean you're not the villain you think you are."
Liam didn't answer.
Because she was right.
"The only person who needs to forgive you is you," Dr. Kim continued. "And possibly Isabella herself. But you can't substitute other people's approval for that forgiveness."
"So what do I do?"
"You do the work. Internal work. You stop running from the guilt and sit with it. You accept that you were nineteen and scared and manipulated by an abusive father. And you forgive yourself for being human."
"And if I can't?"
"Then you keep trying. But chasing Aurora Castillo's approval won't get you there."
Silence.
"I'm going to ask you something difficult," Dr. Kim said. "What if Isabella doesn't want to be found? What if she built a new life and doesn't want the past dragged back up?"
Liam's chest tightened. "Then she deserves that. But I still need to apologize."
"Even if she doesn't want it?"
"Especially if she doesn't want it. Because then at least I tried. At least I didn't choose silence again."
Dr. Kim made a note. "We're out of time. But I want you to think about something this week. Think about what forgiveness looks like if Isabella never comes back. If you never get to apologize. Can you forgive yourself anyway?"
Liam stood. "I don't know."
"That's honest. Start there."
***
Liam left an hour later with two prescriptions and a headache.
The city was alive. Friday morning rush. Suits and coffee cups and people with purpose.
He pulled out his phone. Stared at it.
Aurora Castillo's contact stared back at him. No messages. No follow-up from last night.
Dr. Kim's warning echoed: You can't substitute other people's approval for forgiveness.
She was right.
But he texted anyway.
Hi Aurora. Just wanted to say thanks again for last night. Looking forward to doing it again soon.
He stared at the message for a long moment.
Then hit send.
Because apparently, he couldn't help himself.
His phone buzzed almost immediately.
Calendar reminder: Board meeting, 2 PM - Discuss Rora AI strategy.
Another meeting where his board would ask why Ashford Technologies was losing ground to a five-year-old startup. Another meeting where he'd have no good answers.
Liam pocketed the phone. Kept walking toward his car.
Three years searching for a ghost who might not want to be found.
And now he was chasing approval from a competitor who'd made it clear she didn't think much of him.
Dr. Kim was probably right. He was looking for forgiveness in all the wrong places.
But he'd keep looking anyway.
Because apparently, he still hadn't learned when to stop.