I lean against the counter, fingers splayed, palms holding me up as I fight the way my chest wants to cave in.
My breath catches, thick and uneven, because part of me wants to run after him, to grab his arm and pull him back inside, to tell him that I’m lying—not about loving Jackson more than anything, because that’s the truth, but about how much I need Gio.
I want to tell him I never stopped thinking about him, even when I didn’t know who I was.
That I dream about what life might be like if we were just… normal.
But normal is a fantasy.
And I don’t get to live a fairy tale.
I feel bad for letting Gio think I remember everything his father’s men did to me.
I could see the pain it caused, though he didn’t press me for more answers after I regained my memory.
Truth is, I don’t know.
Not all of it.
Just the same fragments that had already worked their way to me through my dreams.
I remember what they said to me in the van—their taunts, low and ugly, like the words themselves could bruise me.
I remember the smells of burning rubber and gun oil.
I remember a voice, cold and apathetic, promising all the horrible, dirty things they would do to me.
I remember the blinding pain, white-hot, like the whole world blinked out in a burst of light.
Then nothing.
When I woke up a week later, I was in a hospital bed with staples in my head, an IV in my arm, and the crushing sense that life as I knew it was over. I don’t know if I was pregnant before that night.
I don’t know how much time passed between when those men took me and when I was found on that riverbank.
But in the hospital, my test results came back confirming I was in the early stages of pregnancy—likely only a few weeks along.
I don’t know for certain who Jackson’s father is, but if I had to bet, it’s Gio.
Because I see so much of him in my son. Jackson is unfailingly kind and loyal.
He looks at the world like he’s ready to stand up to anything that dares hurt someone he loves.
He never quits, never gives up, no matter how hard something gets.
His conviction leaves me in awe on a regular basis.
Because that’s not me.
That’s all Gio.
But telling Gio that would only make everything harder. It would make him fight for us.
And I can’t let him, because if he did… I might let him win.
I know I made the right decision to cut him from our lives—even if it breaks my heart to let him go.
Because I’m not stupid.
