Chapter Fifty-seven
Abigail-Ann
“Love is not something you find; love is something that finds you.”
~ Loretta Young
I have to tell him .
The words felt heavy in my throat, like stones bringing me down. He deserved to know the reason behind my vagueness, I kept reminding myself, but what if he ended up hating me for keeping it from him?
I’d seen him angry before—the kind that shook the ground—but this would be worse.
What if this shattered everything? What if this was the thing that pushed him too far?
No, I couldn’t think like that. We’d been over this. He was gentle in a way that made me feel safe, but even that reassurance felt fragile, like a thread ready to snap under my fears .
What if I was wrong? What if the truth pushed him away instead of drawing us closer? The thought sent a wave of nausea rolling through me.
Just then, my phone buzzed on the counter, jolting me from my spiral of anxiety. It was a message from Mikkel.
Baby, I’ll be home a little late.
My heart sank. A simple text, but it felt loaded with implications. Why was he going to be late? Did he not want to see me? Did something terribly wrong happen? Suddenly, my mind was a whirlwind of dramatic scenarios, each one more alarming than the last.
Panic clawed at my chest, tightening like a vice and strength felt so far away. With a shaky breath, I typed a response, my fingers hovering above the keyboard.
Okay, be safe. I’ll be here.
I walked into the living room, the weight of his text pressing on me like an anvil. My vision blurred with tears, the uncertainty flickering on the screen. Today couldn’t get worse, but the thought twisted in my stomach like a knife.
I exhaled, forcing myself to breathe deeply. The anxiety gripped me, but I closed my eyes, counting my breaths— inhale, hold, exhale —until my heartbeat slowed.
Then, I walked into the next room, where the rose sat and tapped the glass, watching a petal fall. The words etched on it read: Your laugh is my favorite sound , followed by the quote: The greatest glory in living lies not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.
I took a deep breath and stepped into the living room just as my phone buzzed, Azzaria’s name glowing on the screen.
“Hello?”
“Let me in,” she said, urgency slicing through the air.
“What?” I managed, confusion knotting my brow. “I’m at Mikkel’s.”
“I’m at Mikkel’s door. Let me in.”
Dread and disbelief coursed through me as I opened the door to find Azzaria, her face a storm of anger and worry .
“Are you—”
“Mikkel asked me to stay with you, in a panicked and angry state, and Dillon and Arnoldo are there. I don’t know much about Mikkel’s anger, but whenever Dillon’s like that, it means he’s about to do something really bad.” Azzaria’s voice sliced through the chaos in my mind.
Too many things were happening right now.
“I know how bad your anxiety gets,” she whispered. “But tell me what’s going on please.”
The moment she said it, the dam holding me together broke. I collapsed into her arms, sobs wracking my body as I buried my face in her shoulder. “It’s a mess,” I cried, my voice muffled against her shirt. “I’m a mess!”
Her arms tightened around me, but it couldn’t stop the tears or the pain. I cried until my body shook, until there was nothing left.
“What happened?” she asked softly, stroking my hair with a tenderness that only made me ache more.
Through my tears, I told her everything—Joshua’s text, the anxiety clawing at my chest. Each word felt like a weight, but sharing it with her eased the burden, even if just for a moment.
Her fingers continued their soothing motion, even as my insides twisted with dread. “I’m calling Dillon. I need answers.”
“Az—” I tried to protest, but she’d already pressed the call button, jaw clenched in anger.
“Tell me what the hell is going on!” Azzaria snapped as soon as Dillon picked up.
I heard his deep sigh through the speaker. “We’re handling something. Just stay with Abigail until tomorrow, please.”
Azzaria wasn’t having it. “Dillon Timothy Xander,” she growled.
His tone shifted. “Are you alone?”
Before I could say anything, she answered, “Are you trying to upset your pregnant fiancée?”
“Prec—”
“Tell me what happened,” she pressed, her voice dangerously calm.
Another sigh. “Abigail’s been struggling the past couple of weeks, and it’s been weighing on Mikkel. I don’t know the full details, but he was at his office earlier when her ex—”
My heart plummeted.
“What?” Azzaria’s voice sharpened with alarm.
“Joshua,” Dillon continued. “He sent Mikkel an envelope. A sex tape, disgusting notes, explicit pictures.”
The world tilted. My chest tightened. The air felt thick, suffocating.
Fuck.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think.
“Precious?” Dillon’s voice cut through the fog. “You there?”
“I’m here,” she choked out. “Where are you? Where’s Mikkel?”
“Malen,” Dillon murmured.
“Dill—” Azzaria started, but he cut her off.
“I know,” he said, his voice weighted with something deeper.
Azzaria exhaled, shoulders sagging. “I was going to tell you to make sure Joshua gets what he deserves. I’ll stay with Abigail.”
“ Ti amo , 196 ” Dillon’s voice softened.
“I love you too,” she murmured.
Silence settled between us as the call ended, but the weight of it lingered. My thoughts churned, restless, like an unfinished puzzle with missing pieces.
The words stuck in my head. Malen .
“What’s Malen?”
Azzaria turned, her gaze stormy but her voice steady. “Abigail, let them handle it.”
“No. What is it?” I pressed, desperation creeping in. This was tearing me apart—I needed to understand.
“Matthew,” she whispered, her expression darkening.
“Are they go—”
“I don’t know,” she cut in, voice sharp before softening. “Sorry, my hormones... But he deserves whatever Mikkel does to him. Murder or otherwise.”
I sank onto the couch, grief weighing me down. Azzaria pulled me into a tight embrace as sobs shook my body, each tear carving deeper into the emptiness.
“It’s going to be okay, Abi,” she whispered. But her words felt hollow—empty against the storm inside me.
I cried until there was nothing left, until exhaustion dragged me under. But even in sleep, there was no escape. Joshua haunted me—the café, the moment everything went wrong, the past refusing to stay buried.
Why couldn’t he just stay gone?
When I woke, it hit like a tidal wave, knocking the breath from my lungs. My chest tightened, and I gasped for air, struggling to piece it all together.
Everything was slipping through my fingers, and I couldn’t stop it.
The silence, the uncertainty—it was suffocating.