Chapter 11 - The Watch That Stopped That Night
“What did Beth keep?”
Roman looked down at the photograph.
“A watch.”
I stared at him.
“Nico's?”
He nodded.
“She found it in his coat after the fire.”
I looked toward Rosie's bedroom.
My daughter was sleeping peacefully, one hand curled around her stuffed rabbit.
The apartment was quiet.
Roman continued.
“His belongings were returned to the family afterward. But Beth had his watch because he'd given her his coat to hold before he went into the warehouse.”
“Why didn't she give it back?”
“She was afraid.”
“Of you?”
He gave a sad smile.
“Probably.”
I looked at the photograph again.
Nico stood beside my sister, smiling.
I wondered how many ordinary moments could become unbearable once someone was gone.
“Did you know they were friends?”
Roman nodded.
“Nico liked Beth. He respected the way she stood up for people.”
He paused.
“He used to say she was the only person in that office who'd tell him when he was being an idiot.”
I laughed softly.
“That sounds like Beth.”
Roman smiled.
Then he looked down.
“I wish I'd listened to her.”
The following afternoon, Beth came to the bookstore.
She stood just inside the entrance, holding a small paper bag.
Caroline greeted her warmly, then gave us some privacy.
Beth looked nervous.
“I spoke with Roman.”
“I know.”
She nodded.
“He told you about the watch.”
“Yes.”
She opened the bag.
Inside was an old silver wristwatch with a brown leather strap.
The glass had a small crack near the edge.
Its hands had stopped at 9:42.
“Nico gave me his coat because it was raining,” Beth explained. “He'd gone back to check the service exit before the evening shift.”
She swallowed.
“I found the watch in the pocket afterward.”
I touched the cracked glass.
“Why keep it?”
“Because I thought if I gave it back, I'd have to tell his family everything.”
“Beth—”
“I know.”
She looked at me.
“I've spent nine years knowing I should have done more.”
I leaned against the counter.
“You weren't responsible for what Grant did.”
“No. But I was responsible for what I chose afterward.”
She wiped her eyes.
“Roman deserved the truth. So did the families of the workers who were hurt.”
I nodded.
“Have you told the investigators everything?”
“Yes.”
“Even the things that make you look bad?”
She nodded again.
“Everything.”
That mattered more than another apology.
The investigation into Mercer Street was moving forward.
The authorities had recovered additional company records.
Beth's account supported the evidence that Grant had ordered the exit chained despite repeated safety complaints.
Roman had also acknowledged his own decision to withhold Nico's notebook.
None of it was comfortable.
But for the first time, the people involved were telling the same truth in the open instead of protecting themselves behind different versions of it.
“Will you give Roman the watch?” I asked.
Beth looked frightened.
“I was hoping you'd come with me.”
I considered her request.
Then I nodded.
“I'll come. But you'll have to be the one who hands it to him.”
She smiled sadly.
“Fair.”
We met Roman at his family's old Italian restaurant two days later.
It wasn't the grand private dining room where I'd first seen him.
This room was smaller, with wooden tables and framed family photographs.
Roman's grandfather had opened the restaurant decades earlier.
One photograph showed two young boys standing beside an older man in a chef's apron.
Roman pointed to the smaller boy.
“Nico.”
Beth smiled.
“He looks mischievous.”
“He was.”
Then she placed the watch on the table.
Roman stopped smiling.
For several seconds, he didn't move.
“Where did you get that?”
Beth sat down.
She told him everything.
How Nico had left his coat with her.
How she'd found the watch.
How she'd been afraid to return it.
And how she'd convinced herself that silence was safer for everyone.
Roman listened without interrupting.
When she finished, he picked up the watch.
His thumb moved gently across the cracked glass.
“He wore this every day,” he whispered.
Beth nodded.
“I remember.”
Roman looked at her.
“I should have listened to you after the funeral.”
She shook her head.
“I should have been braver.”
He studied the watch.
“Maybe we both should have.”
For the first time since I'd met him, Roman looked less like a powerful man who could command a room and more like an older brother grieving someone he'd loved.
He closed his hand around the watch.
“Thank you for bringing him back to me.”
Beth began crying.
Roman stood and embraced her.
It wasn't forgiveness for everything.
It wasn't an answer to all the questions.
But it was a beginning.
That evening, we returned to my apartment for dinner.
Rosie had made a drawing at school.
She'd used almost an entire box of crayons.
I recognized our kitchen table.
There was a little girl with brown hair.
A woman in a blue dress.
Another woman standing beside the stove.
And a tall man wearing black.
“That's us,” Rosie explained.
I smiled.
“It's beautiful.”
She pointed to Beth.
“That's Aunt Beth.”
Then to me.
“That's you.”
Then to Roman.
“And that's Mr. Roman.”
He leaned closer.
“Very handsome.”
Rosie giggled.
“Your hair was hard.”
He laughed.
“I can imagine.”
Then I noticed something.
Roman wasn't sitting at the table in her drawing.
He was standing beside the door.
I looked at Rosie.
“Sweetheart, why is Roman over there?”
She shrugged.
“I didn't know if he was staying.”
The room became quiet.
Roman crouched beside her.
“Rosie, you don't have to put me anywhere you don't want to.”
She looked at him.
“I want you at the table.”
“Then you can draw me there.”
She thought about it.
Then she asked a question that made my heart ache.
“Do you leave when people get mad?”
Roman looked at me.
He knew what she was really asking.
He took a slow breath.
“Sometimes grown-ups need space when they're upset. But they should explain where they're going, and they shouldn't use leaving to frighten somebody.”
Rosie considered that.
“Mr. Grant always said he'd leave if Mommy didn't listen.”
I felt my chest tighten.
Roman's expression changed.
He looked at my daughter.
“That wasn't fair to you or your mom.”
She nodded.
Then she held out a brown crayon.
“Can you draw your own chair?”
Roman smiled.
“I can try.”
She watched him draw.
Then she shook her head.
“That's a terrible chair.”
He laughed.
“I told you I wasn't very good.”
Rosie took the crayon back.
“I'll fix it.”
She carefully added four legs and a back.
Then she placed the chair beside mine.
When she finished, she studied the picture.
For a moment, she looked satisfied.
Then she turned toward me.
“Mommy, if we make room for someone, how do we know they won't hurt us again?”
I looked at Roman.
He didn't rush to answer for me.
May you like
And I realized that this time, my daughter needed something more than reassurance.
She needed to see that love could include boundaries—and that the adults around her would respect them.
