I catch her. Hold her.
Her body trembles against mine. Her fingers dig into my back.
"I thought—" She chokes on the words. "When you left, I thought?—"
"I'm here." I press my lips to her hair. "I'm here."
She pulls back. Her hands cup my face. Her thumbs brush the scratches on my cheek.
"You're hurt."
"It's nothing."
"Dante—"
"Marina." I take her hands. Lower them. "I'm fine."
She doesn't believe me. I can see it in her eyes.
But she doesn't push.
Movement on the bed.
Sophia turns.
Her eyes find mine.
They're dead.
Empty.
The vibrant, fierce woman I've known for years is gone. What's left is a shell. A hollow thing wearing Sophia's face.
"Dante." Her voice is flat. Emotionless. "You were there."
It's not a question.
"Yes."
"Did he suffer?"
The question hits me like a bullet.
"No." The lie comes easy. Too easy. "It was instant. He didn't feel anything."
Sophia stares at me.
I can't read her expression. Can't tell if she believes me.
Then she speaks.
"I'm pregnant."
The words hang in the air.
Marina's hand tightens on mine.
"I found out yesterday." Sophia's voice doesn't waver. Doesn't break. It's the calm of someone who's already shattered. "I was going to tell him this morning. I was going to?—"
