Even after speaking with Keeley, the love of his life, Aaron felt no better. Her crying was evident, and he knew it was his fault. So, she hated weddings now? Well, she had hated being married, and he had only himself to blame. His father and Lacy's machinations played a part, but ultimately, her misery stemmed from his treatment of her. He hadn't considered her desires—he hadn't even asked.

Keeley always seemed surprised when he noticed or remembered details about her. Had he truly been that insensitive? He supposed he had. It wasn't intentional; he simply wasn't accustomed to considering others' feelings.

She'd been straightforward since their meeting; he assumed she would tell him if something was wrong. He wasn't a mind reader. How could he know how she felt if she never said anything?

Years later, agonizing over their interactions, Aaron realized she remained silent because she wanted to prove her worthiness as Mrs. Hale. She didn't want to appear incapable or needy.

If he'd known then what he knows now…he would have moved them halfway across the world, starting fresh, rather than staying in New York with those horrible people after their wedding. They could have had the time and space to nurture their relationship before it was too late.

Back then, leaving never crossed his mind. He was groomed to be the future CEO of Hale Investments, and that's what he intended to do. That ambition cost him everything. He was the CEO, but that was all—he had nothing else. He still has nothing. Keeley's resentment runs deep.

Aaron's heart ached, remembering her shaky voice. How many tears had she shed because of him? The memory of her drugged, wailing on prom night—now knowing she was speaking of him—haunted him.

She died believing he didn't love her. The fact that she never changed that belief made it worse. He needed to convince her that his affection wasn't born of guilt; it had always been there, beneath the surface.

He wasn't romantic and struggled to express himself verbally. His actions hadn't been enough, either.

What had he ever done for her? He spent time with her until work consumed his life after their marriage, but that was it. She seemed to enjoy those times, but he knew he benefited most from her presence.

Selfish. He'd always been selfish. Any concern he showed was masked by his gruff demeanor.

Had he ever explicitly said "I love you"? He couldn't remember. No wonder she didn't believe him.

Something didn't make sense, though. Why would Keeley marry him if she didn't believe he loved her? She must have felt his love at some point, even without grand gestures.

He tried to recall what had convinced her. If he knew, he could try to replicate it.

One memory surfaced from the fall after they started dating. Keeley had dragged him to an apple orchard an hour from Boston; she'd never been and thought it would be fun.

Her blonde hair was in a French braid; she wore a red plaid flannel shirt, jeans, and sneakers. Her excitement mirrored a child's on Christmas morning. At the time, he questioned the appeal of apple picking, but he changed his mind after she made apple crisp from scratch.

"Aaron! There are some good ones on this tree; help me!"

He looked around, confused. How could he help? All the ladders were in use.

Noticing a crate near the tree, he decided to hold it for her. Wordlessly, he held it as she twisted apples from the branches.

Keeley beamed when she saw him holding the crate, and his heart fluttered. She was most beautiful when genuinely happy.

This continued for ten minutes until her attention shifted. "Ooh, a huge one! I'll get it. Spot me!"

Spot her? He couldn't ask; she was already climbing.

"What are you doing?" he asked flatly, though his heart pounded. What if she fell?

"The most gorgeous apple! It'll only take a minute."

Wasn't tree climbing prohibited? "Get down; you'll get us kicked out."

"Relax, I almost have it," she said confidently.

Aaron didn't like this. She was precariously balanced on a branch. He set down the crate and moved closer.

Keeley reached for the apple just as her foot slipped. A branch sliced her jeans open; it happened too fast for a scream.

He lunged, catching her around the waist before they both fell. Partially on top of him, she craned her neck, giggled sheepishly, and held up the apple.

"I got it."

"Only you would risk your life for an apple," he grumbled. She'd terrified him. Plenty of apples were within reach.

Her eyes sparkled. "I wouldn't say it was risking my life."

"You still got hurt. It was stupid."

Aaron produced antibiotic cream and bandages from his coat pocket. He'd gotten used to carrying them after spending time with his adventurous girlfriend.

He gave them to her, averting his gaze; he wasn't good with blood.

"But I'm okay, you caught me," Keeley said, applying the medicine.

She was relying on that?! What if he'd been too slow? She could have died!

"You're ridiculous," he grumbled.

She batted her eyelashes. "Come on, you looooove me."

His expression softened; he tugged gently on her braid but said nothing. He should have. He really should have.