Page 86 of The Ache That Stayed

My voice came out weaker than I wanted, stripped of strength. Even now, after everything, after all these years, he could still do this. Shrink me. Fold me back into a version of myself I had fought to outgrow.

I told myself I was past this. But the tremor in my words betrayed me. I wasn’t that girl anymore. Small. Helpless.

Or…was I?

“I wanted to spend some quality time with my niece, just like old times.”

He stepped closer, his scent invading my senses—the same, strong, sharp chemical-like scent. It coated the back of my throat, turning my stomach instantly. The coffee I’d had earlier rose bitter and sour, burning at the base of my tongue.

I swallowed hard. Didn’t help. I shook my head. Words were stuck like glass in my throat.

He smiled slowly when I didn’t respond. As though he was remembering everything I was trying very hard to forget.

“You’ve built a nice life,” he said after a moment.

His gaze moved—not lingering anywhere, but noticing everything. My clothes. My hands. The ring. The space around me. Taking stock of everything.

“Beautiful, even.”

The word sat wrong in his mouth. Like admiration twisted into profanity.

The invisible noose around my throat tightened, robbing me of air. I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. Didn’t trust my voice not to betray me.

Trauma is cruel that way. Locks you in your own skin while your mind claws for escape and everything inside you screams to run. It doesn’t ask how old you are now. Doesn’t care how much you’ve built. One familiar voice and suddenly your body forgets the difference between then and now.

He twirled the lock of hair on his finger, close to my cheek, but didn’t touch. Enough to remind me he could.

“Would be a shame if someone…”

He tilted his head slightly, studying my face like he was waiting for me to crack.

“…looked too closely at it.”

My pulse stuttered.

Kyra flashed in my mind. Romano. The life I’d spent years building—suddenly felt like it was standing on thin ice.

I swallowed hard.

“Don’t,” I croaked.

For the first time, he looked pleased. His smile didn’t change. If anything, it deepened, bringing out the creases at the corner of his eyes.

“You always did like pretending things were fine.”

The words landed heavier than anything else he’d said.

Because they weren’t entirely wrong.

My fingers curled into my palms. I forced myself to hold his gaze. Even as everything inside me started to crumble.

“I’ll keep in touch.”

He said it lightly. Like a courtesy. Like this was a conversation we’d continue over tea.

And then, he stepped back. Just like that. Like he hadn’t just walked into my space and rearranged the wreckage inside me.

He turned, pausing just before he left.