Chapter Forty-Nine
Mindy
The air in the room is heavy with the aftermath of our passion.
A peaceful stillness has settled over us, made all the more precious by the chaos we’ve recently survived.
My fingers trace lazy patterns across Maron’s chest, mapping the terrain of scars and muscles. He lies still beneath my touch, eyes closed, allowing me this gentle exploration. It’s a rare kind of surrender from him - this man who holds himself with such rigid control, letting his guard down completely with me.
Each brush of my fingertips draws a subtle reaction - a quickened breath, a slight tension in his muscles. My hand slips lower, grazing over his muscular thigh as it leads me closer to his cock. I gently cup his balls, rolling them between my fingers in a soft caress that makes him growl softly. I move my hand up his body again, kissing his chest and neck to nip at his earlobe.
I pause in my wandering to study his face. Seven years have left their mark - subtle threads of silver in his beard, fine lines at the corners of his eyes that speak of years of hardship. These changes only enhance his rugged beauty, adding character to features that have haunted my dreams for years.
"Mindy," he says suddenly, his voice carrying an eerie weight as he stares at the ceiling. "There’s something you must know."
The seriousness of his tone makes my fingers still against his skin. "What is it?" I whisper.
He keeps his eyes fixed upward as he speaks, his words falling like stones. "What happened to Sharon... it’s because of me."
I push myself up on my elbow, my post-orgasmic haze evaporating instantly. "What are you talking about?" My voice comes out sharper than intended.
Maron turns to face me. The raw guilt I see in his eyes makes my stomach clench. "Dr. Rachel Anderson. That’s the name of the woman who kidnapped our daughter."
The name instantly strikes a chord. My fingers dig into the sheets as rage and pain surge through me. Every maternal instinct screams for vengeance, yet something about that name nags at my memory. Alexis’ words from the other day float back to me. Her casual mention of Rachel Anderson’s name during our conversation about therapy.
"The psychiatrist?" My voice sounds foreign to my own ears.
Maron’s eyes snap to mine, his surprise evident. "You know her?"
I shake my head. "Not personally. She’s my sister’s therapist. Why would she kidnap our daughter?" Saying those words out loud tastes bitter on my tongue. The image of my baby girl taken, scared and alone, makes me want to wrap my hands around this woman’s neck.
Maron’s eyes darken with regret. "Rachel Anderson is my ex’s sister."
I stare at him, dread pooling in my stomach. "And?"
"My ex-girlfriend, Eva." His voice roughens. "She killed herself. Stole a box of Tramoxine pills from my office and mixed them with alcohol." His jaw clenches. "And Rachel, her twin sister, blames me."
The word ‘twin’ is like a blow to my stomach.
Emily.
My own twin sister, taken from me in that car crash almost ten years ago. The accident I caused. The guilt that has eaten away at my soul ever since. People talk about twin bonds, but they don’t actually understand what it really means. It’s like having half your soul ripped away, leaving a wound that never stops bleeding.
"I’m so sorry about Eva, Maron," I whisper, tears already burning behind my eyes as Emily’s face flashes through my mind.
"Shortly after Eva died," Maron continues, his voice full of regret, "the threats started coming from Rachel." His eyes fix on some point on the ceiling. "First, she went on National TV, talking trash about Tramoxine." His gaze shifts to mine, heavy with guilt. "Then she kidnapped our daughter."
I feel the blood drain from my face as the pieces slot into place.
"You see now?" Maron’s eyes bore into mine, raw with self-loathing. "It’s all because of me, Mindy. It’s my fault our daughter had to go through that terrible experience. I can never forgive myself for what happened to her."
His words unleash a storm of emotions inside me, each fighting for dominance.
My little girl. My baby. Taken by a stranger who claimed to be me. I don’t even want to imagine how she must have felt. The thought of her fear, her confusion, her pain, makes me want to scream until my throat bleeds.
But beneath the rage, another emotion claws its way up.
Emily.
My beautiful, brilliant twin sister. The other half of my soul. The empty space she left behind that nothing and no one can ever fill. Losing her created a void so deep I sometimes wonder if I’ll ever stop falling into it.
And suddenly, horribly, I understand Rachel.
She lost her twin sister, just like I lost mine.
The agony of that loss – it’s beyond words, beyond reason. It’s the kind of pain that can drive someone mad.
As Maron’s confession hangs in the air between us, I’m startled by my own reaction. Besides the burning rage I feel, there’s something else - a deep, aching empathy for Rachel. Despite her unforgivable actions, I see her now as another broken soul, shattered by the same devastating loss I’ve endured.
"Please don’t hurt her," The words tumble from my lips before I can stop them.
Maron’s head snaps toward me. "What?"
"Please don’t hurt Rachel, Maron," I repeat, my voice steadier now, more certain.
He scoffs, anger flashing in his eyes. "Give me one good reason not to."
I draw a steadying breath, steeling myself. "Because I know exactly how she feels."
Confusion clouds his expression. "What are you talking about?"
"Maron," my voice trembles despite my efforts to keep it steady. "I lost my twin sister too. Remember Emily?"
His face softens slightly. "Of course I do, lisichka ."
"That’s my point." The words catch in my throat. "I know exactly what it’s like to lose a twin. It’s not just losing a sibling – it’s like having half your soul torn away." My tears threaten to fall, but I force them back.
Maron’s expression remains stoic, but I see the muscle in his jaw working.
"You may not understand what Rachel’s been through, but I do," I press on. "That’s why I’m asking you not to hurt her."
The silence between us grows heavy, charged. I can feel the rage simmering beneath his careful control - the primal need to destroy anyone who dared harm our daughter.
"What about Sharon?" His voice is dangerously low. "Rachel has to pay for what she did to her."
I reach for his hands, gripping them tightly. "No, Maron. Rachel’s already broken. What she did was unforgivable, but... please let it go. Be the better man. For Sharon. For us."
He’s silent for a long moment, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he wrestles with my words. Finally, he speaks, his voice raw. "I don’t know if I can forgive her."
"I'm not asking you to forgive her," I cup his face in my hands, forcing him to meet my gaze. "I’m asking you to let it go."
Maron releases a harsh breath, his eyes squeezing shut. His chest heaves as he fights to contain the fury I know still burns inside him.
I take his hand again, my voice soft but urgent. "Listen, Maron. This is your chance. To be the father Sharon needs. To show her that strength isn’t just about violence - it’s about knowing when to choose mercy."
The silence stretches between us as he absorbs my words. Then, never breaking eye contact, he reaches for his phone and dials. I hold my breath, my heart pounding as I listen.
"Pavel," his voice is firm, final. "Change of plans. We leave Rachel Anderson alone. We’ll hand her over to the police."