—I see, Maggie says, her sharp gaze shifting between us. And what exactly is this extraordinary role that would justify abandoning your husband and your new family?
—Grandmother! Keira exclaims. You can’t say that!
—Of course I can, Maggie shoots back. I’m eighty. I say whatever I like.
—This isn’t about abandoning anyone, I say, feeling the need to defend myself. It’s… complicated.
—Life is always complicated, my dear, Maggie says more gently. That’s why we need people who make it simpler—not those who make it harder.
Her pointed look tells me she’s not just talking about my decision to stay or leave—but about something else. Someone else.
—I think Jane and I need to talk in private, Callum says abruptly, rising to his feet. If you’ll excuse us.
He leaves the room without waiting, leaving me momentarily frozen. After a brief hesitation, I stand and follow him, acutely aware of his family’s eyes on my back.
I find him in his study, standing by the window, staring out at the Scottish night. He turns as I enter.
—I’m sorry about that. My family has never quite grasped the concept of privacy.
—It’s… it’s fine, I reply, lingering near the door, uncertain.
Silence settles between us—heavy with everything we’re not saying.
—You’re going to leave, aren’t you? he asks at last, his voice calm.
—I haven’t decided, I protest.
—You should go, Jane. It’s the opportunity you’ve always dreamed of.
I study him, searching his eyes for something real. Does he want me to leave? Or is he trying to be noble—to “set me free”?
—What if the opportunity I’ve always dreamed of has changed? What if it’s no longer a role in a film—but something else?
He steps toward me, then stops a few feet away.
—Jane, I don’t want to be the reason you don’t pursue your ambitions. I don’t want you to stay out of obligation—or worse, out of pity.
—Pity? I repeat, stunned. You think I would stay out of pity?
—I don’t know what to think anymore, he admits. After everything that happened today—with McKenzie, Heather, your agent… I don’t want you making a decision you’ll regret.
—What if my only regret would be leaving you? I shoot back, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
His expression shifts—hope flickering briefly before he masks it again.
—Jane…
—No, let me finish, I say, stepping closer. I’ve spent my whole life chasing a dream, Callum. Wanting to be seen, admired, validated by an industry that changes its mind overnight. And somewhere along the way, I forgot to ask myself what I actually want.
I take a steadying breath.
—I’m not thinking about leaving because of Alistair McKenzie or Heather. I’m thinking about it because I’m afraid. Afraid that what we have isn’t strong enough to survive the real world. Afraid that one day you’ll wake up and regret marrying a clumsy American actress instead of a perfect Scottish Lady.
—That’s ridiculous, he says.
—Is it? Look at us, Callum. We’re so different. I talk too much—you don’t talk enough. I act before I think—you analyze everything to exhaustion. I turn every disaster into a funny story—you turn every success into a lesson in humility.
I step even closer, until I can almost feel the warmth of him.
