Charles did not speak as a monarch that night. He spoke as a man who had lived with regret long after the world moved on. What he admitted was not wrapped in ceremony or explanation. It was raw, direct, and long overdue.
For William, the moment was disorienting. He had grown up under scrutiny, shaped by public grief and private questions that never found answers. Hearing them addressed so late reopened wounds he had learned to live beside, if not fully heal.
The confession did not offer easy resolution. It did not rewrite history or soften its sharpest edges. Instead, it forced both men to confront the distance that silence had created between them.
Charles acknowledged the cost of that silence—how avoidance had protected appearances but eroded trust. He admitted fear, not of the public, but of saying the wrong thing and losing what little connection remained
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