My back molars smash together as fear engulfs me.
“Lucia—”
Ignoring me, she walks through the threshold of her apartment, her steps decisive, like she’s afraid if she slows down, she’ll break her cover of not needing anyone or anything.
I race for the sheet between our apartments, ready to fall to myknees and grovel, but a small, strangled whimper from Camille’s room stops me.
She only ever makes that noise when she’s scared or in pain.
I freeze, torn between two starkly different obligations. The urge to chase Lucia burns through my veins, but Camille’s well-being is solely on my shoulders.
I can’t let her down.
My daughter needs me, and I pledged to always put her first, but every step I take toward her room replicates a bullet searing through my chest.
The hits keep coming when I clear Camille’s door. Her body is twisted up in the blankets, her cheeks are red, and her lips tremble with a pain she can’t voice.
I hated having to choose, but I made the right decision to put Camille first. She’s terrified and peering at me like I am her only savior.
I am. I’m just praying like fuck I don’t lose Lucia in the process.
