Chapter 2 everyone

protector. Even more so after our parents passed away. And then again after Eric left. He's a shark, a rich and powerful man in the world, and many fear him. But with me, he's always been kind. I wish I could be more like him, stronger perhaps, but I'm more like our mother. She was quiet, sweet (sweeter than me!), and saw the best in everyone. I took over the Sinclair Charitable Foundation right after college, interning there as a student. Mom started it, and I wanted to continue her work.

I found joy in supporting animal rescues, providing scholarships to underprivileged children, advancing the foundation's cancer research, stocking food banks, and so on. It fulfilled my life, but it just wasn't enough when I lost Eric. I fell into a deep depression, some days not wanting to get out of bed. Simon appointed a temporary director for the foundation, Cecily Anderson. With his gentle guidance and unwavering support, he suggested I take some time for myself in a special place he knew, nestled in the Swiss Alps. For five months, I allowed myself to grieve, feel, and slowly rebuild myself with the help of professionals. Fresh air, a change of scenery, great therapists-all of it helped. I knew I was lucky to be getting treatment-so many people struggling with major depression don't have the same resources. I decided to add a branch to our Foundation for just that-helping people who are deeply depressed without resources-in the coming months, out of gratitude. As I grew stronger in spirit, good memories began to overwhelm the grief. Memories of Eric began to creep into my mind. And memories of Nick and Max, too. I felt like I was betraying Eric the day I thought of Nick romantically, but my therapist told me that was normal. That Eric would want me to move on and not stay stuck in a place of grief, not living. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. But eventually, a spark of adventure ignited within me.

I now yearned to explore, to experience life again, beyond the confines of my healing sanctuary. I love art and collect it, so Paris appealed to me. My therapists encouraged this step, as did Simon. And now, my first day at the Louvre! I want to fill my heart with beauty and finally shake off the remnants of my dark depression that has been my companion for far too long. I spent the morning wandering the halls of the Louvre, completely enchanted by the masterpieces that surrounded me. Every brushstroke, every sculpture and manuscript spoke to my soul, uplifting my spirit in a way I hadn't felt in years. I love French painters and I lingered over these paintings, absorbing them into my soul. Sure, I had to see the Mona Lisa and the Venus de Milo, like everyone else. But I've always been a fan of Egyptian art, and the Louvre has one of the largest collections outside of Egypt. I was absolutely mesmerized and lost in every piece, every story, every manuscript, every sculpture, every intriguing face. After the tour, I decided to grab an espresso at a nearby outdoor café along the Seine to reenergize myself and let the overwhelming experience sink in. As I sat sipping a strong cup of coffee and watching the world go by, I felt simply blissful. I closed my eyes and a memory, a fond memory, came to me. Eric had taken me on a surprise trip to the Grand Canyon for my birthday. Nick and Max had gone too, because they loved hiking and we all enjoyed each other's company. He had arranged for a helicopter to take us there, which included a picnic lunch. The sun on my face now reminded me of how I had felt that day, so surprised and happy to be with my love in such a magnificent place. He was an amateur guitarist and had brought his guitar. The guys were joking around with him.

I remember Nick saying, "Are you trying to tune that thing or should that be a song?" And as he was warming up, Max yelled, "Watch out, guys! We have a new Jimi Hendrix wannabe here." When we were at home, they would usually have something to say like, "Watch out, or you might summon the spirit of every cat in the neighborhood," so Eric would just laugh and be used to their banter. As we sat in the shade of the picnic area, enjoying our drinks and the vast expanse of nature, he strummed his guitar and sang a new song, just for me. One he had composed. I remember the silence around us, four little beings in the middle of a vast natural space, and the clear sounds of the guitar strings and his voice. It was a love song, and I still remember the words to this day. The last line echoes in my head now, and I remember the expression on Eric's face as he sang, and the unreadable look on Nick's face as he sat next to him: Under the vast canyon sky, our hearts soar, Hand in hand, we chase the sun into the night. With every star above, our love will always grow, Together forever, that's what I know. The boys teased him, but they were impressed, I remember thinking as I looked at their faces that day. I loved the music and his clear voice, and I told him so... I slowly come back to the present of that day at the Grand Canyon, a small smile of fond remembrance on my face. I'm coming to terms with the loss and beginning to remember the good times we shared. The sunny terrace of Le Petit Café buzzed with the soft murmur of conversation and the clink of coffee cups. I leaned back in my wrought-iron chair, savoring the warmth on my face and the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee beans that emanated from the open doors behind me and flowed through my veins. Suddenly, a commotion erupted, shattering the peaceful afternoon.

My eyes flew open in time to see a ragged man in a worn jacket snatch my bag from where it hung on the back of my chair. Before I could even react, a blur of movement caught my attention. "Hey! Stop right there, you thief! Arrête, voleur!" A tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair ran after the pickpocket. His long stride quickly closed the distance between them. With a dive that would have made a rugby player proud, he tackled the thief to the ground. I stood up in shock and watched the scuffle, unsure of what to do. "Let go of that bag, now!" The Good Samaritan's voice was American, deep and authoritative. The commotion drew gasps and gasps from the other patrons. Chairs scraped against the concrete, some toppling over, as people stood up to get a better view of the action unfolding on the sidewalk. Some were taking photos or videos. After a brief struggle, my rescuer snatched the bag from the thief's hands. The pickpocket scrambled to his feet and ran away, disappearing around a corner. Breathing heavily, the man who had come to my rescue straightened. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair and turned to face me. Our eyes met, and I felt my breath catch in my throat. He was strikingly handsome, with chiseled features and piercing dark eyes that crinkled slightly at the corners as he gave me a crooked smile. He walked over to my table, my rescued bag held out before him like an offering. "I believe this belongs to you, madam," he said, his voice softer now but still rich with a hint of amusement. Our fingers brushed as I took the bag from him, sending an unexpected tingle down my arm. "It's mademoiselle, not madame. Thank you," I managed, feeling a little dazed. "That was... incredibly brave of you. Thank you very much." He shrugged, the movement accentuating his broad shoulders beneath his well-fitted shirt. "I only did what anyone would do. Are you all right?" The café owner hurried outside. "Are you all right, mademoiselle, monsieur? Should I call the police?" "I don't think that's necessary. The