CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Avery
W
hen we step back into the suite, I immediately notice someone standing near the door—tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a suit that practically screams security detail . One of the men the guys hired, no doubt. He stands with his hands clasped in front of him, posture alert, but there’s no tension in his presence. Just quiet, practiced calm.
He nods respectfully toward Jaxton. “Sir, there’s a housekeeper finishing up in the kitchen. She should be done in ten.” A quick glance at his watch confirms it, and he gives a crisp nod, like he’s mentally checking off a task.
My brow lifts. “Housekeeper?”
Before I can spiral with questions, Jaxton steps closer and rests his warm palm over the swell of my belly, anchoring me instantly. He leans in, presses a soft kiss to my cheek, then turns his head toward the security guard. “Thanks, Vic,” he says smoothly, dismissing him with a subtle nod.
When the door clicks closed behind him, Jaxton’s full attention shifts to me, his voice dropping to that low, steady tone that always makes me feel grounded.
“Kam hired one of the hotel staff to work exclusively for us. She comes in while we’re out—cleans, tidies, resets the space. We made a promise, baby. That you’d feel safe. Be safe. This is just one more way we’re keeping that promise.”
The tension I hadn’t realized I was holding begins to unwind. I nod slowly, letting my eyes flick toward the kitchen before settling back on him. It’s still an adjustment—having people in my space, even vetted ones—but with the guys, everything always feels intentional. Thoughtful.
Then, just like that, Jaxton flashes one of his trademark smirks, the one that always makes my heart flutter and my eyes roll in equal measure.
“Now,” he says, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear, “go get comfy. You know what I’m talking about—those sexy little silky penguin shorts Liam picked out? Yeah. Those. Put ’em on and prance around a little for me.” He winks, backing toward the kitchen. “I’ll take care of the housekeeper.”
I snort, unable to help the laugh that escapes. “You’re shameless.”
“And you love it,” he tosses over his shoulder.
I do. God help me, I really do.
As I turn toward the bedroom, my hand instinctively cradles the underside of my belly. The baby gives a gentle nudge in return, and my smile deepens.
The silk set slides over my skin like a whisper—cool, soft, and undeniably luxurious. Liam’s taste is… specific. The top barely skims the underside of my breasts, riding high over my bump like it was meant to show it off. And knowing him? It probably was.
I glance at myself in the mirror, lips twisting into something between a smirk and a sigh. My belly is front and center, full and round, stretching the fabric to its limits. I tug the hem once—pointless—and give up entirely. If anything, I’m more amused than annoyed. Liam clearly wanted the bump on display.
Still, I hesitate at the bedroom door, unsure whether I really want to deal with people right now. My energy’s been so up and down lately, and the thought of casual small talk—or worse, pretending to be unaffected—makes my stomach flip. But then I remind myself: this is safe . Controlled. The people here are mine . If I can’t ease back into the world surrounded by love, when can I?
I tug on my robe, tie it loosely over the silk set, and make my way down the hall.
As soon as I step into the kitchen, I catch the tail end of Jaxton’s voice—smooth and polite but edged with that clipped finality he reserves for uncomfortable situations.
“I appreciate it, but you’ve already done enough for today. Really.”
My eyes land on the housekeeper.
She’s standing a little too close. Her body angled toward him like he’s the one thing in the room worth orbiting. Her smile is bright, teeth flashing like a sales pitch, and her hand lingers on the countertop—just shy of his.
He doesn't see me yet, but I pause in the doorway anyway, watching.
The housekeeper isn’t picking up on any of the cues Jaxton’s sending—his calm tone, the gentle distance he keeps. If anything, she’s leaning in farther, fluttering her lashes and pretending to check the supplies on the counter.
My jaw clenches, and I roll my shoulders back. Nope. Not today.
I step into the room like I own it—because in many ways, I do. “Hey,” I call out casually, padding across the tile floor.
Jaxton’s head snaps up, relief instantly softening his features. He crosses the kitchen in two strides and wraps his arms around my waist, careful but possessive. His hands span across the sides of my belly like it’s second nature.
“There she is,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my temple. “You look beautiful.”
I glance past him at the housekeeper, who’s suddenly much more interested in the edge of the counter.
“Thanks.” I smile sweetly, resting my cheek against his chest for a moment before adding, “I didn’t want to interrupt.”
Jaxton chuckles low under his breath. “You’re never interrupting, Kitten.”
He turns with me tucked securely to his side, his hand resting gently on the small of my back as he walks me toward the table. “Thank you for your help today,” he says to the housekeeper—his tone polite but unmistakably final. “We’re all set now. You can go.”
Without missing a beat, he pulls out a chair and helps me sit, brushing a soft kiss to the top of my head like it’s second nature. I already know what’s coming—he’s heading to the kitchen to fix me a snack, because that’s what Jaxton does. He takes care of me like it’s his full-time job.
And by the little flutters tumbling in my stomach, our baby is just as excited about that snack as I am.
Jaxton hums quietly to himself as he smooths two generous dollops of peanut butter onto a plate. The familiar, comforting scent drifts through the air while he slices up a crisp apple with easy precision. His movements are effortless, like this is just another ordinary afternoon—and maybe for him, it is. For me, moments like these feel sacred. Every kind thing he does, every careful gesture, wraps around me like a blanket I never want to take off.
But the moment I glance toward the housekeeper still lingering by the counter, unease curls in my gut.
She has her back to us as she methodically gathers her cleaning supplies, moving a little too slowly. The dark smock she’s wearing is the same style I’ve seen on other hotel staff—but something about her feels… off. It’s not what she’s doing, exactly. It’s what she’s not doing. No polite acknowledgment. No casual smile. No sense of urgency to leave even though Jaxton had already thanked and dismissed her.
Instead, she moves as if she belongs here. As if this is her space, and we’re just passing through.
A chill prickles along the back of my neck, raising goosebumps on my arms despite the cozy warmth of my silk robe. My instincts whisper louder than my rational thoughts, warning me with a quiet intensity I’ve learned not to ignore—especially after everything I’ve been through.
I shift slightly in my chair, pressing my hand over my belly like I can shield the baby from a feeling. From a threat I can’t quite name.
Something isn’t right.
I can’t explain it—there’s no sound, no warning—but my body knows before my mind does. A chill dances down my spine, making every hair on my arms stand on end.
The housekeeper turns around, and in a split second, the air shifts.
She looks different—new hair color, different eye shade, even the uniform is standard—but there’s something about her, something familiar and bone-deep terrifying. Her eyes lock on mine, and in them, I see it. That unhinged glint I’ll never forget. The same one that haunted me for months.
My breath catches. My heart stumbles. I open my mouth to warn Jaxton, but the words don’t come fast enough.
Before I can even shout, she lunges—grabbing Jaxton from behind and pressing a cloth over his face. His startled noise is muffled, his strong body twisting in surprise as panic floods his features.
“Jax!” My voice catches on a gasp, sharp and panicked, as I push to my feet in a rush, heart thundering in my chest.
He meets my eyes, and the fear there nearly undoes me. He stumbles back, trying to shake her off, trying to hold his ground—but I recognize the dazed look beginning to take over. I know that helpless sensation all too well.
Still, he fights. He slams her against the wall, dragging them both across the floor. But she clings on tightly, fueled by something unhinged. I can see how hard he’s trying to stay upright, how his instincts scream to protect me, even as his strength fades. He glances toward me one last time—eyes filled with apology, desperation, and love—and then he goes still.
“Jaxton,” I whisper, the breath stolen from my lungs.
She releases him, letting his body slump to the floor as she straightens and turns to face me. Her smile is eerie—wide, unnatural, too calm. She brushes her bangs from her eyes, as if we’re old friends meeting for lunch.
“Hi, Avery,” she says lightly. “How’s my baby doing?”
The room tilts slightly, but I plant my feet and stand tall, heart pounding, every protective instinct roaring to life.
Not today.
Not again.
Her question hits like a storm surge, but I don’t answer. Instead, my hand instinctively comes to rest over my belly, shielding the life growing inside me. My mind spins, searching for a plan.
My phone is in the other room. Jaxton’s is still in his pocket. Security should be stationed right outside the door—Vic had said the housekeeper would only need ten more minutes. Hopefully, he’ll come check in soon. If not, my only chance might be to run.
I shift slightly in my seat, eyes darting toward the door—calculating distance, timing, possibility.
She notices.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she sneers, stepping over Jaxton’s still form, blocking my path like a sentry guarding the gates. “So, I hear congratulations are in order. Engaged, are we? How sweet.”
The sarcasm drips from her words, thick and poisonous.
I draw a breath, steadying my nerves. “Thank you.” The words are simple, but they’re a spark. Her face tightens immediately, her breath sharpens, and I know I’ve struck a nerve.
She’s unstable, but predictable when provoked. I need her off balance—distracted—if I’m going to find any kind of opening.
My eyes search the room subtly, scanning for something—anything—I could use. A vase. A heavy book. I just need one moment.
We move in a slow circle around each other, a silent standoff. She lashes out with no warning, and her hand connects with my face—enough to make my lip sting and taste the faint trace of blood. But it’s not enough to stop me. I square my shoulders.
“How did you get away, Sarah?” I ask, voice even. “I thought I ended this the last time.”
The expression she gives me is pure theatrics, rubbing her head as if recalling an old memory. “You almost did. I was out cold. Sirens were closing in, but I got out. I slipped through the back, dizzy as hell. But I survived.” Her eyes meet mine, and something shifts. “And look at you now. The comeback queen.”
She claps, slow and sarcastic, like this is all some performance for her amusement. “You got out. The guys brought you back. They love you.” Her voice drops an octave, bitterness flooding her words. “Only because of the baby.”
Those five words ignite something in me. A fire that wipes away the fear.
“They love me because they choose to,” I say. “And they would do anything to protect this baby—and me.”
Sarah tilts her head, her gaze narrowing. “Let’s see how far that love goes.”
I start edging closer to the doorway, calculating the risk.
“Don’t.” Her voice turns sharp. Her hand moves behind her back, and she pulls something out—metal, slim, and far too familiar.
“Make a sound,” she warns, “and I swear, I’ll make sure Jaxton never wakes up. Do you want that kind of grief?”
I freeze. My heart pounds like a war drum in my chest.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask, voice low. “You know they’ll never choose you—especially now.”
Her eyes flash, hurt and rage twisting her features. “They did love me,” she hisses. “Before you came along. We were supposed to be everything. We were supposed to be a family.”
“Then why did they ask me to marry them?” I ask softly.
She falters. Just for a second. Then, her expression hardens.
“We’ll see if you make it to the altar.”
She lunges.
Pain blooms through my hand as I try to deflect the swing of her weapon. It stings, but I don’t let it stop me.
I refuse to go down without a fight—not now, not ever.
I try to steady my breath, even though every nerve in my body is screaming. Pain pulses through my hand, but I push through it. My voice, though tight, doesn’t shake. “You can take your anger out on me all you want,” I say, meeting her gaze, “but you’ll never have what we have. Love built on lies doesn’t last.”
Her expression twists, fury flashing like lightning in her eyes. That fragile hold she has on composure snaps. “You just don’t know when to shut up,” she spits, stepping closer, her tone rising into a sharp, frantic pitch.
I brace myself, trying to find any opening to escape, but she’s already in motion. A sharp, sudden impact against my ribs. The breath whooshes from my lungs, and I collapse to my knees, gasping. The pain is hot and searing, but I bite back a cry. I can’t let her win.
I scramble, dragging myself across the floor, my arm wrapped tightly over my stomach. Protecting my baby is all I can think about. I can hear her behind me, talking to herself, her footsteps following me. A chill runs down my spine, but I don’t stop. I can’t.
She catches up to me in seconds, pinning my hand beneath the heel of her shoe. The pressure is sharp and unforgiving, but I grit my teeth and swallow the cry threatening to rise. “You won’t get away with this,” I whisper, the words tight and urgent as I glance toward the door, silently pleading for someone—anyone—to hear. The guys should be back any minute now… but will they make it in time?
She crouches beside me, her eyes wide and unsettling, her smile soft in a way that sends a fresh wave of fear down my spine. “You’re so persistent,” she murmurs, brushing hair from my face like we’re old friends. “But you’re far enough along now that our little one can join the world. And tonight’s the night.”
I go still, my stomach twisting at her words. She glances toward Jaxton, still unconscious on the floor, and my blood runs cold as she moves closer to him.
“No,” I whisper, barely able to speak.
She looks back at me with calm certainty, tapping her fingers thoughtfully. “Then be smart. Don’t push me. Stay quiet. Cooperate. Because if you don’t…” She trails off, eyes flicking to Jaxton with dangerous intent.
The warning is clear.
I press a trembling hand over my belly, my heart pounding so loudly it echoes in my ears. Every breath feels like a countdown. I pray—silently, fiercely—that help is on the way. Because one thing is certain: I won’t let her hurt him. And I won’t let her touch our baby.
Giving in is not an option. Letting her take my child—cut my baby out—is unthinkable. If she wants a showdown, she’s going to get one. My pulse races, faster than my thoughts can keep up, sending dizzy sparks dancing at the edges of my vision. I can’t pass out. I won’t . If I fall now, she wins. She takes everything.
I force myself to breathe slower, to fight past the haze. My mind scrambles for a plan, something— anything —that will buy us time. And then it hits me.
I stop crawling. Let my body slump a little. I lift one shaky hand in surrender, pretending to give in. “I can’t,” I whisper, loud enough for her to hear. “I don’t have the strength to keep running.” It’s not a lie. I’m exhausted. But I need her to believe I’ve accepted defeat. “Just… please,” I add, my voice cracking, “let me say goodbye to Jaxton. He’s not a threat. Please. Just let me say goodbye.”
The flicker in her eyes tells me I’ve said exactly what she wants to hear—her idea of victory. She craves control, and giving her even the illusion of it makes her pause.
“Fine,” she says, gesturing with the baton toward Jaxton’s slumped body. “Make it quick. And don’t cry all over him.” Her lip curls in disgust, like grief is something to be ashamed of.
I nod slowly, swallowing the bile in my throat. My body protests every movement as I inch toward Jaxton. He’s so still. His chest rises and falls, but there’s no sign of awareness. I hate the helplessness in his features, the slackness in his jaw, and the way his head tilts unnaturally against the wall.
I gather him into my lap as best I can, maneuvering my belly between us to shield the movement of my hand as it searches his jacket pocket. I know what I’m looking for. His phone. And if I can get to it… maybe someone will hear us. Maybe someone will come.
Her eyes are on me, too sharp to risk pulling it out, so I slide my fingers across the screen, praying it dials someone. I don’t even know if there’s a lock or if it’ll go through. I just hope .
To cover my tracks, I lean down and whisper like we’re sharing our final words. “I love you, Jax,” I murmur, brushing his hair back gently. “From the moment you and Liam walked into The Sweet Tooth, I felt it—that spark. That connection.” My voice shakes. “We’ve been running full-speed ever since, but I wouldn’t trade a second of it. Not a single moment.”
A glance at Sarah. Her face is tight with annoyance, but she doesn’t move. Good.
I press a kiss to Jaxton’s lips, lingering just long enough to glance down and spot the faint glow of his screen still peeking from his pocket. A call is connected. Relief flutters through my chest like wings.
I don’t know who it is. I don’t know if they can hear me. But I lean close and whisper through clenched teeth, “Please. Someone help us.”
Sarah’s voice slices through the room, sharp and dripping with malice. “No one’s coming for you. They’re mine. And soon enough, that baby will be mine too.”
The threat hits like ice to the spine. I tense, my hand instinctively covering my belly, my pulse thrumming so loud it drowns out every logical thought. But then—movement. A thump from the living room. A voice. Something.
The guys.
Relief flutters inside me like butterfly wings, but it vanishes just as quickly. Because Sarah doesn’t flinch. Her lips stretch into a slow, razor-sharp smile, eyes still pinned to mine with unnerving intensity.
“Looks like they figured out I jammed the door,” she says, almost cheerfully. “Did you really think I wouldn’t plan for them to show up? That’s the problem with those boys—always playing hero. It’s exhausting.” She rolls her eyes like this is all just a mild inconvenience. Then her smirk returns, darker this time. “Did you know a fork can completely disable a door? Crazy, right? Just slide it in and twist—instant lock. Internet’s full of gems like that.”
Her satisfaction makes my stomach churn. She thinks she’s winning. She thinks she’s prepared.
But how? Even if the guys are blocked by the door, they’re on the other side. They’re close . And the second they get in here, it’s over. For her.
Still, I need to keep her distracted. Keep her talking.
“If they’re outside waiting,” I say, trying to keep my voice level, “how the hell do you plan on getting out of here? Especially with my baby?”
That last word is deliberate. Mine.
A twitch jumps beneath her right eye, betraying her rage. She doesn’t like my confidence, or the reminder that I’ve still got fight left in me.
“It doesn’t matter,” she spits. “You won’t be alive to worry about it.”
And then—like it’s a magic trick—she pulls something from behind her back. A glint of silver catches the light.
A knife.
Not small. Not subtle. Long and gleaming, like it was pulled from a horror film. She brandishes it like it’s a prize. Her fingers tremble around the handle, not with fear—but excitement.
My chest tightens. My breath shortens.
This isn’t just a threat anymore. It’s a countdown.
But then— boom.
A loud crash rattles the air. The sound echoes from the front door, making the walls tremble. Sarah flinches, turning toward the source. Her attention wavers for just a second.
The guys. They’re trying to break the door down.
Now, Avery.
My body coils. The electric charge of fight or flight pulses through me, every muscle straining, desperate for action. This is it. My opening.
I inhale, centering myself, eyes locked on the threat in front of me.
You have one shot. Make it count.
A voice I can’t name—quiet but firm—whispers through the chaos. Move.
Without hesitation, I lunge forward, shielding my belly with one hand while swinging a statue I grabbed from the side table with the other. It’s heavier than it looks, but I put every ounce of strength I have into the motion. The statue misses Sarah’s face by inches, but connects with her wrist—the one holding the metal bar. It clatters to the ground, a small victory.
But pain sears through me a moment later.
A sharp sting cuts across my cheek, followed by warmth. My scream echoes through the room as blood drips down my face, the tang of iron already on my lips.
Sarah recoils, cradling her hand to her chest, her expression twisted in pain. “You ruined everything!” she hisses through clenched teeth. Her fingers look damaged—maybe broken—but she doesn’t stop.
My grip on the statue tightens, the ache in my arm forgotten under the tidal wave of adrenaline. I meet her eyes through the blur of red, refusing to show fear. If I go down, it won’t be quietly.
She flinches, just slightly, like she didn’t expect resistance. Good.
“You thought this would be easy?” I ask, voice low and steady, despite the burning in my skin. “You thought I’d just let you take everything from me?”
She answers with a wild swing, her knife slicing into my shoulder. I cry out but manage to land another blow with the statue, catching her in the ribs. She stumbles back, breath knocked from her lungs.
Behind us, the pounding on the door grows louder—frantic. Hope flutters inside me, but we’re not safe. Not yet.
“You won’t get out of here,” I tell her, circling carefully, mirroring her steps. “You’re not taking me. Or my baby. Or Jaxton.”
But she just laughs, like this is all a game.
“There’s a tunnel,” she sneers. “Old service access through the kitchen. Cleared it myself. Your precious security team didn’t even think to check.” Her eyes gleam with pride, as if she’s proud of outsmarting us.
And maybe she has.
But I won’t let her win.
She charges again, and this time, her knife finds its mark. A burst of blinding pain erupts as the blade sinks deep into my side. My scream is raw, tearing from my throat and ricocheting off the walls.
But the pain is fuel.
With every ounce of fury and love in my bones, I slam the statue into her face. There’s a sickening crunch, followed by a shriek. She collapses, blood streaking across her skin, her hand flying to her mouth as she stumbles back.
The door explodes open.
Kam storms in, fire in his eyes, with Liam and Lennox at his heels. He takes in the scene in a flash—Jaxton unconscious, me bleeding, Sarah disoriented—and his expression hardens into something lethal.
“Avery.” His voice breaks as he drops to his knees beside me, catching me before I fully hit the floor. “Oh fuck, baby.”
“Secure her,” Liam orders as he crosses the room. “Now. And get medics in here!”
My breathing is shallow. I don’t even remember falling. But I feel Kam’s arms around me, his hands trying to stop the bleeding. Then he freezes.
The knife.
“No—no, no, don’t touch it,” he says urgently, gently pulling my hand away from the hilt. “If it comes out, it’ll be worse. Just stay with me. Please, Sunshine, stay awake.”
His hand grips mine tightly, and I squeeze back with what little strength I have.
“Where the hell is Kendrick?!”
A blur of movement, then Kendrick slides in beside us, opening his med pack with practiced urgency.
“Hey, Avery. Stay with me, okay? Can you tell me where else you’re hurt?”
“Jax… baby…” My voice is thin, unraveling. I don’t know if he understands.
But Kam does.
“They’re checking on him,” he says softly, brushing my hair back from my blood-smeared face. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”
Liam and Lennox are by Jaxton now, their voices firm but calm as they help assess him and coordinate with the arriving security.
“You’re covered in blood,” Kendrick says, his voice steady despite the worry on his face. “I need to know what’s yours and what’s not. Just nod if it hurts anywhere else.”
“You’re doing great,” Kam whispers, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “We’ve got you.”
I lift my arm slowly, fingertips brushing my forehead, but it’s not pain I register first—it’s the overwhelming sense that something inside me is… shifting. Fading.
It hits all at once. A sensation unlike anything I’ve felt before. Weightless. Soft. Like the world is pulling away from me while wrapping me in the warmth of a quiet embrace, a lullaby made of light and calm. It’s as if I’m curling up in front of a fire, safe beneath layers of blankets, where nothing can touch me. Not fear. Not pain. Not even time.
My gaze finds Kam’s, and everything else blurs. His eyes widen as understanding dawns in his golden stare. The strong, composed man I know shatters in front of me, a tear spilling over his cheek as panic flashes across his face.
“Don’t you fucking do it,” he pleads, his voice thick, ragged with emotion. “Don’t you dare leave me, baby girl. Don’t leave us again. We won’t survive it. And the baby…”
His voice breaks.
The hand he’s pressing against my chest—holding mine tightly—is the only thing tethering me to this moment, to this world.
With effort, I lift my free hand, slick with blood, and gently cup his cheek. His skin is warm, grounding me even as everything around me fades into gray. “Lo…lo…lovvv…” My voice is broken and weak. My lips barely form the word before I close my eyes, surrendering to the weight that’s pulling me under.
“Stay awake, baby. Please,” Kam says, giving me a little shake, his voice low and urgent. “You were so smart, Sunshine. You called me. You stayed strong. Don’t stop now.”
He turns sharply to Kendrick. “What’s happening? What do I do? Tell me what to do!”
Kendrick’s hands are flying, his voice tight with urgency. “She’s hemorrhaging. Badly. The head and arm cuts are superficial, but that knife wound is deep. We’re losing time—she needs a hospital right now.”
Every word feels like it’s coming from underwater. Muffled. Slurred. Distant.
Still, I hear it.
And I know.
I’m not going to make it.
Not this time.
But Jax is alive. Our baby is still with us. That’s enough for me. I’d do it all over again if it meant they were safe.
A noise at the door draws my attention, and I turn my head slightly, the movement slow, like I’m made of stone. Through my hazy vision, I see movement—a rush of bodies.
All at once, their eyes find me—and stay. Like magnets pulled to the center of their world.
In the seconds that follow, everything shifts.
Their steps falter. Their chests hitch. The cocky bravado, the controlled calm they wore just moments ago? It slips. One by one, their expressions crack. Horror dawns like a sunrise they never asked for.
Liam’s jaw locks so hard a muscle ticks beneath his cheek, the vein at his temple pulsing with barely restrained emotion. Beside him, Lennox staggers a step, like someone just punched the air from his lungs.
Neither of them says a word—but they don’t have to. Their faces say it all. The stunned disbelief. The panic clawing at the edges of their control. The gut-wrenching realization that they didn’t get to me in time.
Their eyes follow the crimson path trailing behind me, the way Kamden is cradling me like I’m the only thing anchoring him to the world. And then they see it—the blade still embedded in my side. The thing none of us want to acknowledge but can’t look away from.
Liam breaks first, storming forward like a man on fire, red-eyed and wild, his voice deep and roaring with emotion—even though I can barely make it out. Lennox is right behind him, his normally steady expression crumbling, his jaw clenched and eyes glassy. My dad trails them, finally having stepped into the room, and the way his face falls the moment he sees me hits harder than any blade.
They drop beside me.
Blink.
Liam’s hands are shaking as he reaches for me.
Blink.
Lennox’s whisper is a prayer and a plea.
Blink.
They’re surrounding me now, forming a wall of warmth and devotion—my protectors, my soulmates.
A small part of me smiles inside. Our Bean will grow up with more love than any child could hope for. They’ll be surrounded by strength, laughter, loyalty—and the kind of love that spans lifetimes.
I try to speak again, to tell them I love them. That I’m okay. That they were the best thing to ever happen to me.
But the words don’t come.
My lips move.
Nothing follows.
And as the world tilts, darkness curls around the edges of my vision, pulling me into quiet… I let go.
Because if this is the end, I’m ending wrapped in love.