This Time

It was easy to see the lines now. Now that it was too late.
         They had depended on him. His wife, his son. They had needed him. But he hadn’t been strong enough.
         And now, it was too late.
         He had always thought, always been told, that it wasn’t about love. It was about family. Not loving your wife, your child, your son. But having a family. Having a son. The rest was unimportant as long as you had your son.
         The money was important, but honor was everything. Your enjoyment was welcome, but always second to family.
         To the heir, to the family name. To the continuation of the family line.
         He hadn’t loved her in the beginning. He hadn’t even met here, then. The first time he had laid eyes on her, was as she walked down the aisle in her wedding dress. She was beautiful, that was a plus. The important thing was that she was rich, she was liked, and she was part of high society. Being beautiful was a plus. Being nice was even better. Being in love was more than he dared to ever hope for.
         But it had happened. They had fallen in love. She adored him. She worshiped him. She was the first person to truly love her. To show him love existed. He had doubted it for the longest time.
         It had taken him longer to love her, he knew. It had taken even longer for him to realize he was in love with her. It had taken too long. Because now it was too late. Too late to tell her. To show her. To save her.
         His son had been born less than a year after the wedding. Before they had been in love. Before he had believed in love.
         The boy was beautiful. His mother’s eyes. His father’s hair. His mother’s mouth. His father’s nose. His mother’s heart. Her heart. His heart. They were the same. The mother and her son. Kindred hearts. Sacred souls. Passionate, immovable. But breakable.
Fragile.
He wasn’t fragile. He wasn’t breakable. He was strong.
Strong enough for himself. But not strong enough for them.
His heart hadn’t been strong enough. He couldn’t love them enough; he didn’t love them fast enough. He had never told them.
Maybe then he could have saved them. Maybe he would have been brave enough, smart enough, good enough.
But he wasn’t good. He was bad.
He always had been.
And when his child, his heir, his son hadn’t been perfect. When he hadn’t been strong enough, like his father. When he was weak, like his mother. He had deserted them.
He had left them both. Left them to rot.
His son couldn’t be the heir. He wasn’t qualified to be an heir. And that was all that mattered. The heir. The family name. The family line. To continue the family line.
And his son couldn’t do it.
So his son had to be taken care of.
His wife had to be taken care of.
And now. He could see the line that he had crossed. It wasn’t about the line. It was about family. And he had deserted his family. Brought shame to his name.
But now. He had a new family. With new children. Girls. All eight of them. Not one boy.
It was punishment.
He was paying for his sins. For deserting his true family.
And he deserved it. He knew he deserved it.
He hadn’t even told them he loved them.
This time he would be strong enough. There wasn't an heir. But for her sake. For his son's sake. He would save them this time.
They weren't qualified to be heirs. Not a one of them. But he would be strong enough.
Strong enough for all of them.
This time he would save them.