He hadn’t just left.
He’d finally erased me.
Something inside me collapsed inward, like a structure finally giving way after months of silent strain. I laughed. Not because it was funny, but because there was nothing left to hold the sound in.
I stood up on unsteady legs and grabbed my keys without thinking. The bottle came with me. I didn’t put shoes on. I didn’t grab a jacket. Just moved without knowing why.
The cold slapped me hard the moment I stepped outside, sharp enough to steal my breath. Stars littered the sky, bright and indifferent. The world looked exactly the same as it always had.
I drove without direction.
The road stretched out ahead of me, dark and endless, headlights carving tunnels through the night. The whisky burned in my throat. Tears blurred my vision until everything smeared into streaks of light and shadow.
My heart pounded so hard it felt like it might crack my ribs.If he won’t answer, maybe this will be enough.The thought didn’t scare me.
It felt inevitable.
The tree came out of nowhere. Metal screamed. Glass exploded. Pain detonated through my chest and shoulder in a flash of white-hot agony.
Then—
Nothing.
CHAPTER 20
ANTHONY
My phone rattled against the table while I was reviewing December’s books. The sound felt wrong—too loud, too insistent—like it had already decided it was going to ruin me.
I didn’t recognize the number, but my stomach dropped anyway.
“Hello?” My voice came out hoarse, already tight, like my body knew before my mind caught up.
“Is this Anthony Ruiz?”
The calm professionalism on the other end didn’t reassure me. It made my pulse spike. Every instinct in me screamed danger.
“Yes.”
“I’m calling from the sheriff’s department. I’m sorry to inform you?—”
Something inside me went cold and hollow at the same time. My hands went numb. My coffee mug slid across the table, spilling without my noticing. The room tilted.
“I didn’t hear the rest,” I said later. At the time, all I managed was, “Where… where is he?”
There was a pause. A breath. “He’s been involved in a single-vehicle incident. He’s stable, but he’s being taken into surgery.”
Surgery. The word landed like a physical blow. My knees nearly buckled. I grabbed the edge of the desk just to stay upright.
Elliot.
My baby boy.
I didn’t remember locking the door. I didn’t remember the drive, only red lights bleeding into white lines, my own breathing tearing in and out of my chest like it was trying to escape me. My hands clenched the steering wheel so tightly my fingers cramped. I wanted to scream—at the road, at the night, at myself.
At every moment I’d pulled away.
By the time I reached the hospital, my body was shaking violently. Sweat slicked my hair to my forehead. My legs felt unreliable, like they might fold without warning. I had to grip the railing at the entrance just to keep moving.
