I Only Knew Him
Melody waited all day.
The hours dragged in slow, painful increments. Morning light turned to harsh midday sun, then softened into the golden haze of late afternoon. She lay propped against the pillows, eyes fixed on the door, willing it to open. Willing him to walk through it.
Christian never came.
No flowers, no message, not even a glance through the glass panel. And Symphony… she hadn’t seen her tiny face since those fleeting minutes in her arms.
Hope thinned with every passing hour, until it snapped entirely.
By dusk, the sky outside her window had turned a bruised purple.
Melody couldn’t bear the stillness anymore.
She eased herself to the edge of the bed, biting her lip against the constant burn of her stitches, and stood on trembling legs.
One careful step, then another. She paced the small room slowly.
.. three steps to the window, three steps back, clutching the IV pole for support, desperate for any movement that might quiet the ache in her chest.
The door opened without warning.
Not Christian.
Victoria Holt stood in the threshold, immaculate in a camel coat, silver hair swept into an elegant twist. Her eyes swept over Melody with open disdain.
“Get your things,” she said flatly. “You’re discharged.”
Melody froze mid-step. “Discharged? But… it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours. The doctor said—”
“I spoke to the doctor,” Victoria cut in, voice sharp as glass. “You’re perfectly capable of recovering elsewhere. We’re not wasting more money keeping you here.”
Melody’s heart stuttered. “But the stitches… I can barely walk—”
Victoria stepped forward and seized Melody’s forearm in a bruising grip, nails biting through the thin sleeve of the hospital gown.
“Do you think anyone cares about your comfort?” she hissed, leaning close enough that Melody smelled her expensive perfume.
“You’ve already taken one son from me. I won’t let you milk this family for another second. ”
Melody tried to pull away, but the movement jarred her abdomen. Pain flared, hot and warning.
“Please—” she started, voice small.
Victoria’s lips curled. “Hurry up and change. A car is waiting downstairs. You’re coming home where I can keep an eye on you.”
With a sudden shove, she released Melody’s arm.
Melody stumbled backward. Her hip caught the hard plastic rail of the hospital bed, but it was her belly that took the real impact... stitches slamming against the unyielding edge.
A white-hot lance of agony ripped through her incision.
She gasped, doubling over as the breath left her lungs in a broken rush. The room tilted. Tears flooded her eyes instantly. She clutched the rail with both hands, legs buckling, a low whimper escaping her throat as the pain pulsed in sickening waves.
Victoria didn’t flinch. She smoothed her coat as if nothing had happened.
“I said hurry,” she repeated coldly. “I won’t wait all night.”
The door clicked shut behind her.
Melody sank slowly to the floor, curling around her stomach, sobbing into the crook of her arm. Each breath pulled at the stitches like teeth. The pain was everywhere... burning, tearing, relentless.
She stayed there for a long minute, maybe longer, rocking slightly on the cold tile, alone again.
Then, with trembling hands, she forced herself up.
She had no choice.
She changed into the loose dress a nurse had left earlier, every movement a fresh torture. Tears streamed down her face as she pulled the fabric over the swollen, tender wound. She wiped them away with the back of her hand, swallowed the next sob, and walked to the door.
The corridor outside was empty.
No one to help her.
No one to care.
Just the echo of her uneven footsteps as she made her way toward whatever waited next.
×××××××
The Holt mansion loomed like a beautiful prison.
.. Marble floors cold under Melody’s bare feet, chandeliers glittering overhead like mocking stars.
She had been brought here straight from the hospital, still weak, still bleeding beneath the loose dress that hid her bandaged wound.
Every step up the grand staircase had been torture, but no one had offered an arm.
Now, in the softly lit sitting room, she saw them.
Christian sat in the deep leather armchair near the fireplace, their tiny daughter cradled gently against his chest. Symphony was wrapped in a pale pink blanket, awake.
Dark curls peeked out, small fist curled near her rosebud mouth.
Christian’s large hand supported her head with surprising tenderness, his deep hazel eyes fixed on her face as if she were the only real thing in the world.
Ashley was draped against his side, one arm looped possessively through his, her head resting on his shoulder as she cooed meaningless words at the baby.
The sight stopped Melody in the doorway.
“Symphony…” The name left her lips like a prayer. She took one slow, careful step forward, then another, clutching the doorframe for balance.
Christian’s head snapped up. The softness in his face vanished instantly, hardening into something cold and impenetrable. Without a word, he rose from the chair and turned toward the waiting nanny who hovered nearby.
“Take her away,” he said, voice flat, carefully placing the baby into the woman’s arms.
Melody watched, frozen, as Symphony disappeared down the hallway, her tiny form swallowed by the shadows of the mansion.
“Christian,” she whispered, voice cracking. “She might be hungry. I can feed her. Please.”
Victoria, who had been standing near the grand piano, let out a sharp, scornful laugh. “You? Feeding my grandchild?” She stepped closer, eyes narrowed with disgust. “Don’t even think about it.”
Melody’s hand instinctively moved to her aching chest, where her milk had begun to come in... painful, heavy, a constant reminder of what had been taken from her. “Why can’t I? I carried her for nine months. I almost died bringing her into this world. She’s my daughter.”
Ashley straightened, lips curling into a venomous smile. “You’re a murderer, not her mother.”
The words struck like a slap. Melody’s breath caught, eyes filling instantly.
“What is wrong with all of you?” she whispered, voice trembling. Her gaze found Christian’s... pleading, desperate. “Christian… please. Let me be near her. Just let me hold her.”
He watched her in silence, expression unreadable. Then, quietly: “Go rest.”
“Christian—”
“Melody.” His voice dropped into a low growl that silenced her.
The tears spilled over. A broken sob escaped her throat as she pressed a shaking hand to her belly, the stitches pulling with every shuddering breath.
Victoria sighed dramatically. “Oh, the waterworks again.” She turned on her heel and swept from the room, heels clicking like gunshots on the marble.
Melody stood there, alone in the center of the vast space, feeling like a stranger in a house that was supposed to be hers now. An outsider watching her own life from the wrong side of the glass.
Ashley moved closer to Christian, sliding her arm through his again. “Chris,” she purred, “let’s go out. The air in here… stinks.”
Christian pulled his arm free... firmly, without looking at her. “Ash, go home.”
Ashley blinked, startled. “What—”
“I have an important meeting tomorrow,” he said, voice tired. “Go home. We’ll all rest tonight.”
Her face twisted in anger. She glared at him, then at Melody, before snatching her flashy designer purse from the side table. With a huff, she stormed out, the front door slamming behind her moments later.
Silence fell.
Christian remained standing near the fireplace, hands in his pockets, staring at the dying flames.
Melody couldn’t stop crying. Quiet, helpless sobs that shook her whole body. She pressed her palm harder against her stomach, as if she could hold herself together from the inside.
He watched her for a long moment, jaw clenched, eyes shadowed.
Then, without a word, he turned and walked away, disappearing down the corridor toward his room.
Leaving her standing alone in the flickering firelight.
Again.
×××××××
It was the night Symphony was conceived. I’m sure of it, even now.
We had been married for almost three months by then... three months of cold silences, separate bedrooms, and Christian’s eyes full of accusation every time they landed on me. But there were nights… rare, stolen nights when the walls between us cracked, just a little.
We had come together a handful of times before. Always in the dark. Always sudden, like a storm neither of us could control. He would appear in my doorway late, saying nothing, and I would let him in.
That night was different.
I remember the rain against the windows of the mansion, soft and steady. I couldn’t sleep. The sheets felt too heavy, my skin too warm. I was sitting up in bed reading, when the door opened.
Christian stood there in the low light, shirt unbuttoned, hair tousled like he’d been running his hands through it. His hazel eyes found mine across the room, and for once there was no immediate rage in them. Just something raw. Tired. Hungry.
He didn’t speak. He just crossed the room in a few long strides and pulled me up against him.
I let the book fall. My hands went to his chest, hesitant at first, then clinging.
He kissed me like he was drowning, deep and urgent, his fingers threading into my hair, tilting my head back so he could take more.
I kissed him back the same way, tasting the faint whiskey on his tongue, feeling the heat of him through the thin silk of my nightgown.
He walked me backward until my knees hit the bed. We fell together, a tangle of limbs and breath and need.
His hands were everywhere... claiming, yes, but reverent too.
Sliding over my waist, my hips, like he was memorizing me.
When he pushed the straps of my gown down my shoulders, his mouth followed, warm against my skin.
I arched into him, whispering his name..
. not a plea to stop, but a plea for more.
He paused only long enough to look at me, eyes dark and searching. I nodded, heart pounding, and pulled him closer.
That night he didn’t rush. He took his time undressing me, kissing every inch he uncovered like he was trying to erase the distance we carried during the day.
When he finally settled over me, our bodies fitting together like they were meant to all along, he buried his face in my neck and whispered my name like it hurt and healed him at the same time.
I wrapped my legs around him, met every slow, deep thrust with my own, and for those hours the hate fell away. There was only us... skin against skin, breath mingling, hearts racing in the same rhythm.
Afterward, he didn’t leave right away. He stayed inside me a little longer, forehead pressed to mine, breathing hard. His hand rested on my stomach, fingers splayed wide, as if he already knew something sacred had just begun.
I fell asleep with his arm around me, his chest against my back, feeling, for one fragile night, wanted.
Chosen.
Loved, maybe, even if he’d never say it.
I didn’t know then that our daughter was already taking root. That the one time we let ourselves truly feel each other would create the most beautiful thing in my life… and the thing they would later use to break me completely.
But that night, in the quiet after the storm, I only knew warmth.
I only knew him.
—Melody
×××××××