Tempted by Eden (Eden #1)

38. Cora

Chapter thirty-eight

Cora

U nfit. Unsafe. Prostitute. Debt. ADDICTION. Those five damning words loop in my head, each one more brutal than the last. I barely make it to the bathroom before I’m on my knees, retching into the toilet. My body heaves, but it’s my heart that’s truly sick. Those words aren’t just accusations. They’re daggers, each one slicing deeper, hitting every vulnerable spot I’ve ever tried to hide.

How could he do this to me?

I cling to the edge of the toilet, gasping, shuddering as the words claw at me, refusing to let go. And the worst part is, I saw it coming. Somewhere deep down, I knew James would try to take Leo from me. But knowing doesn’t soften the blow. It doesn’t take away the sting of those ugly words.

Another heave comes, though there’s nothing left. I slump to the floor, resting my cheek against the cold tiles, trying to steady the dizziness in my head. I’m a puppet whose strings have been severed; limp, lifeless. I thought I was stronger than this, but right now, I don’t feel strong at all. I’m broken. Those words, they’re not just legal jargon—they’re a cruel confirmation of every fear I’ve harbored since the day Leo was born.

You’re a bad mother.

You’ll never be good enough.

The whispers that have haunted me since I became a mother, the ones I’ve tried to bury, are now screaming in my head.

Tears sting my eyes, burning like acid.

I can’t lose him. I can’t lose Leo.

My worst nightmare is becoming a reality. Hot tears spill over, blurring my vision as grief leaves me breathless.

“Darling, James and the social worker are here to pick up Leo.” Dad’s voice cracks the silence. He pokes his head around the door and his face drops when he sees me sprawled on the floor. “Oh, sweetheart.”

I hardly register him kneeling beside me, his hand warm on my back. “It’ll be okay, you’ll see. We’ll fight this. And we’ll win. Leo will be back in our arms in no time.” His tone is full of the conviction that I can’t find in myself. He’s trying so hard to believe it. And for a second, just a second, I almost do too.

I nod. It’s easier that way, easier to pretend. His hand tightens on my shoulder. “You need to pull yourself together. You can’t let Leo see you like this.”

I chew my bottom lip, forcing back the sob rising in my throat. He’s right. I can’t scare Leo. He can’t see how close I am to falling apart. If he has to go, he needs to think that I’m okay with it.

Dad gives me a reassuring squeeze before leaving, allowing me the space to breathe, to gather myself.

Slowly I get to my feet, gripping the sink. My legs are made of jelly, weak, ready to collapse at the slightest touch.

I splash cold water on my face, hoping to wash away the despair, but the reflection staring back at me is bleak—red, blotchy skin, and puffy eyes. I drag a brush through my hair, swipe on some foundation, and dab eye drops into my swollen eyes. It’s a feeble attempt at looking put-together, but it’s all I have.

I draw in a shaky breath, forcing myself to stand tall.

Be strong for Leo.

You can do this.

With my shoulders drawn back, I walk into the living room. James shifts on his feet, running a hand through his hair, his eyes flicking to the stern-faced woman beside him. She stands to his left, clipboard in hand, watching with a cool detachment. The social worker’s presence makes everything feel more real, more formal. My world is now under someone else’s scrutiny.

My eyes meet James’s and I see it: Guilt. Regret. His eyes flash with it before they harden, his expression shifting back to the cold mask he’s been wearing lately. But seeing his regret doesn’t soften the pain—it makes it worse. I bite down hard on my lip, tasting the metallic tang of blood. How dare he stand there and feel guilty about what he’s about to take from me?

James steps closer, his hand reaching out like he’s about to touch me, but then stops, glancing over his shoulder at the social worker, and pulls away at the last second.

I take a step back, arms wrapped tightly around myself, needing space. Needing air.

Don’t, I mouth.

He flinches. “Cora—”

I shake my head, looking down.

“Momma! Look! Uncle James is here!” Leo’s voice breaks through, his excitement pure and innocent. He’s holding his little backpack, smiling up at me, completely unaware of the emotional war waging in the room.

Crouching down to Leo’s level, I steady my voice even though every part of me is screaming inside. “You ready to go, baby?”

“Yup!” He bounces on his toes. “You wanna come too, Momma?”

I swallow hard, forcing a smile. “Not this time, pumpkin.”

Leo wraps his arms around my neck, and I hold him tight, tighter than I should. I bury my face in his hair, closing my eyes as I breathe him in.

God, how do I let go?

I can’t. He’s my baby, no matter how old he gets.

My baby .

“Momma, you’re squishing me!” Leo giggles, his laughter bright, and I desperately cling to it, to him.

I eventually loosen my grip, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Go have fun, okay? I love you,” I whisper, the words thick in my throat. My fingers tremble as I run them through his soft, dark hair, smoothing it down. The sob rises in my throat again, but I swallow it down, forcing myself to keep it together. I can’t break in front of him. But every time I blink, the tears keep coming, and I have to clench my fists, dig my nails into my palms, to keep them from spilling over.

Leo flashes me a big grin and runs into the hallway. We all follow close behind, and as soon as Dad opens the front door, Leo bounds outside, his small backpack bouncing, carefree. The social worker gives me a curt nod, then follows him out, quickly falling into step beside him and starting up a conversation with a quiet question.

James stands in the doorway, his tall frame filling the space, but he hesitates. He turns back to me, and for a split second, the mask slips. Guilt flickers across his face again. He wants to say something—his mouth opens, then closes—but he doesn’t. Instead, he dips his head slightly, his eyes holding mine before sliding away. He steps outside, his back rigid, leaving me here without my child, or any hope of seeing him again.

The door clicks shut, and the last fragile thread holding me together snaps. A sob rises out of nowhere, tearing through me with a force I didn’t know I had. Instinctively, I slap my hand over my mouth, trying to muffle the sound as I drift back down the hallway in a daze, finding my way to the living room. I sink onto the couch, clutching the cushion as if it’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart entirely. Dad rushes to my side, his reassuring voice a dull hum in the background, but I can’t hear him over the roar of my own heartbreak. I can’t focus on anything except the pain piercing my heart. It’s too much, too sharp, and I can’t stop it. I can’t stop any of it.

I gasp for air, but my chest is tight, constricted, crushing me from the inside out.

Suddenly the front door bursts open and I hear the footsteps before I see him.

James.

He rushes over, crouching in front of me, his arms wrapping around me, pulling me into his chest.

“I’m sorry. I’m—fucking sorry, Cora.” The words tumble out of him, desperate. I hardly hear them at first, too lost in my head.

“I… didn’t—” He sucks in a ragged breath. “Cora, I swear… this isn’t what I—I didn’t want to hurt you like this.” He swallows hard, like he’s struggling to find the right words. “I thought I was… protecting him. I thought this was what was best for Leo, but—” His voice cracks. “I didn’t mean… all this.”

He keeps talking—about Leo, about Jonathon, about doing what was best. And for a moment, I almost believe him. Almost. But then the anger flares again, intense and burning. Sorry isn’t enough. Sorry doesn’t fix the mess he’s made.

I don’t know how long we stay like that—me sobbing into his chest, him holding me, apologizing over and over. His words wash over me, but they don’t take away the hurt. They can’t. Nothing can.

When I finally manage to catch my breath, the sobs fading into hiccups, I pull away. I don’t look at James. I can’t. I look for Leo. He’s standing by the couch holding the social worker’s hand, a confused, scared expression on his face. With a sob I lift him into my arms, bury my face in his shoulder and close my eyes, breathing him in. I need to feel his little body against mine.

I sense James hovering but I don’t even acknowledge him. All I can do is hold on to Leo, my arms wrapped around him like a shield, rocking him gently as if that motion alone could somehow keep us both safe.

“I’m sorry, Cora,” James whispers again, his voice rough. But I don’t open my eyes.

“Ms. Rossi, Mr. Hayes has decided not to go ahead with the court order today, so Leo will stay in your care,” the social worker says. I nod, still unable to lift my head.

I hear her heels clack across the floor and the soft shuffle of James’s sneakers as he follows her down the hall. There’s a hesitation in his step, and for a moment I think he might stay. But then the door clicks shut. He’s gone.

And I’m still here, cradling Leo. He’s the only thing keeping me together. My beautiful baby boy.

James held me like his arms could somehow piece together what he’d shattered. But no hug could fix this. No “sorry” could undo the damage, could erase the words he threw at me like knives— unfit, unsafe, prostitute . They still echo in my head, louder than his apology, louder than the sound of my own breaking heart.

He broke me.

And no amount of regret or whispered apologies could ever make it right again.