Chapter 20: The Encounter
The walk-up apartment building in Astoria smelled of boiled cabbage and old floor wax.
Julian climbed the three flights of stairs slowly, his heart thudding in his chest. He reached the door of 3B and raised his hand, hesitating for a long moment before knocking twice.
Footsteps approached, and the door creaked open, held by a chain lock. A tired eye peered through the crack.
"Mom. It’s me," Julian said softly.
The chain rattled frantically, and the door swung wide. Victoria stood in the entryway, wiping her flour-dusted hands on a faded pink diner apron. She looked older, her face etched with deep lines of exhaustion, but her eyes were remarkably clear.
"Julian," she gasped, pulling him into a fierce, desperate hug.
He wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her shoulder. She smelled of cheap coffee and dish soap, completely devoid of her signature Chanel perfume, but the embrace was the warmest he had ever received from her.
"Come in, come in," Victoria ushered him inside, locking the door behind them.
The apartment was tiny and sparsely furnished. A small television hummed in the corner, and a pot of chicken soup was simmering on a hot plate in the cramped kitchenette. It was a far cry from the sprawling estates they had once called home, but it was exceptionally clean.
Julian sat down at the small, wobbly dining table as Victoria ladled a generous portion of soup into a bowl and set it in front of him.
"I made your favorite," she said, her voice trembling slightly as she sat across from him. "Well, I tried to. The recipe is a bit different when you have to buy the ingredients yourself."
Julian took a bite. It was the best thing he had tasted in three years. "It’s perfect, Mom. Thank you."
They ate in a quiet, comfortable silence. The frantic, manic energy that used to dominate their conversations—the endless plotting, the social climbing, the gossip—was gone.
After he finished, Victoria reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a neatly folded, slightly worn magazine clipping. She smoothed it out on the table and pushed it toward him.
It was an article about the Hayes Foundation, featuring a picture of Clara standing proudly at a ribbon-cutting ceremony.
Julian looked at the photo. His chest tightened, but not with anger or jealousy. It was a profound, heavy sorrow for the brilliant, beautiful woman he had taken for granted and ultimately destroyed his own life to spite.
"She looks happy," Julian whispered, tracing the edge of the glossy paper.
"She is," Victoria said quietly. She reached out, placing her rough, calloused hand over her son's. "I see it now, Julian. I see what we were. And I see what she is. We didn't deserve her."
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Julian looked up at his mother, seeing the genuine remorse in her eyes. The realization hit him that they had both finally woken up from a lifelong delusion.
"I know, Mom," Julian agreed softly. "I know."
