Until one day, at a restaurant.
I ran into Luke with a woman, intimately close.
He spotted me and immediately pushed her away.
Luke stammered, seemingly trying to explain.
He fidgeted with his shirt, repeatedly grasping and releasing the fabric.
By the time he collected himself, I had already walked past.
Later, I heard Luke had dismissed all the women around him.
Even his assistant was replaced with a man.
He became devoted to charity work and adopted a daughter.
Named her Lucy.
Luke spared no expense in raising Lucy.
People speculated she must be his biological daughter.
Why else would he treat her so well?
Years passed, and Luke fell gravely ill.
By then, Lucy held most of the power in the family business.
Luke's public will left half his fortune to Lucy, the other half to charity.
The last day of his life happened to be his birthday.
"Father hopes you'll spend his final birthday with him."
Lucy came to me personally.
She had been raised well-not a trace of insecurity about her.
After all these years, I had made my peace.
But this last meeting-I didn't want it.
One final act of revenge against Luke.
Shortly after Lucy left, that night, Luke passed away.
That evening, I who hadn't dreamed in so many nights, finally had one.
I saw Luke lying in his hospital bed.
One hand exposed, riddled with IV lines.
Pale and gaunt, limply hanging over the edge.
Doctors rushed in, covering him with a white sheet.
Luke was truly gone.
I woke early to an unusually clear spring day.
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