My chest aches—hollow and burning all at once. My hands won’t stop trembling. I press my palm lightly to her back, feeling the soft rise and fall. I close my eyes. Just to breathe her in. Just to remind myself that she’s here.
She survived.
Barely.
And I had no idea. I was thousands of miles away, drowning in doubt and silence, and a handful of photographs. I didn’t fight. I didn’t go after her.
She needed me. And I wasn’t there—to protect her, to find her, to believe her. To hold her through the dark.
She bled. She broke. She lost our baby.
And I believed a lie. Instead of fighting for her. Instead of fighting forus.
How do I live with that?
Tears come—slow, silent. Not from the surface, but from somewhere deeper. Somewhere gutted. I bow my head over hers, my forehead brushing her hair, and I let them fall. Quiet. Reverent.
God… we had a baby.
Howdo you mourn something you never even knew you had—until it was alreadygone?
A child. Our child.
A life that might’ve had her smile, her laugh, maybe her stubborn fire. All of it stolen—by a monster.
ByAndy.
The thought slices through the haze of grief like a blade. Sharp. Cold. Clear.
I will find him.
He willpay.For every second she begged for mercy. For every bruise, every sob, every piece of her he tried to destroy.
My fingers curl unconsciously against her spine, not tight—just enough to promise:Never again.
And Leah…
Her undoing has already begun. The business ties are quietly disintegrating. I’ve made sure of that. She doesn't know it yet. She won’t see it coming. But soon, she’ll feel the weight of everything she built collapse around her.
Not for revenge. Forjustice.
I’ll tell Della. About Leah. About the money. About all of it.
But not now.
Right now, I have to think of her. She’s all that matters.
She needs presence. Peace. And if I can give her even an ounce of that—it will be more than I gave her five years ago.
I’ll bring back the smile on her lips and the fire in her eyes.
I look down at her again.
How can someone so small, so full of light and dreams, endure what she did?
And still... breathe?
Her face is soft in sleep, but there's tension that doesn’t leave—little flickers around her brows, like the fear still lingers beneath the surface. My thumb grazes her temple gently, tracing her skin with reverence. Then I see it.
