Page 79 of Shattered Echoes

I take a deep breath, my heart heavy with the weight of the past and the uncertainty of the future. The memories of Ricardo's violence linger in my mind, casting a dark shadow over the present moment.

I meet Antonio's gaze, searching his eyes for any sign of recognition, any hint that he understands the words I'm speaking. And though his expression remains blank, his heart rate on the monitor quickens at the sound of my voice.

"Ricardo deserved what he got," I say, my voice steady, despite the turmoil raging within me. "He deserved to die for what he did to me, for how he treated me. In the end, he even killed himself to break me, to scar me for life."

And he did. But not anymore.

As I speak, I feel a surge of guilt and a conflicting mix of emotions. Guilt for his death, guilt for feeling relieved that he's gone. It's a tangled mess of emotions that I've carried with me for far too long.

"I know you must be feeling something similar," I continue, my voice soft with empathy. "And I want you to know that your feelings are valid. You're going to get better, Antonio. I believe in you."

Because I am going to get better too.

My hand finds his, our fingers intertwining in a silent gesture of solidarity and support.

"I love you," I whisper, the words a declaration of my unwavering devotion. "I love you more than anything in this world."

As I place a gentle hand on my belly, a swell of emotion rises within me. "I want to be good for you, Antonio," I whisper, my voice trembling with emotion. "I want us to be a family, to raise our child together in a home filled with love and laughter."

His heart rate quickens at the mention of our child, a glimmer of hope shining in his eyes. Maybe, just maybe, he can hear me and understand the words I'm saying.

“Yes, our child, Antonio.”

I press a tender kiss to his forehead and allow my lips to linger against his skin. "Henry and Leo may not understand," I mumble, my voice tinged with sadness. "They don’t want us to be together, but I trust us. I trust that we'll be okay, that we'll get through this together."

I have to.

I squeeze his hand gently, willing him to come back to me, to return to the life we've built together. "So, you just focus on getting better," I say, my voice filled with determination. "And come back to me. Come back to us."

With those last words, I lay my head beside his, feeling a flicker of hope. Only time will tell what the future holds for us, but for now, all I can do is wait and pray that Antonio finds his way back to me.

Come back to me. Come back to us.

26

Antonio

The sunlight filtering through the hospital window feels foreign to my skin as I sit on the edge of the bed, my meager belongings packed in a small bag beside me.

It's been a week since I last saw Colette, a week since she whispered those life-altering words that have echoed in my mind ever since — she's pregnant. With my child, our child.

The thought sends a cocktail of emotions — fear, excitement, anxiety, and a strange, burgeoning sense of responsibility — churning within me. Despite the turmoil, one thought remains crystal clear — I want to be there for them, for Colette and our baby.

The door swings open, and Leo strides in, his face a mask of suppressed anger. The tension between us is like an elephant in the room. He's spoken to me this past week, each silence echoing loudly how deeply I've disappointed him, and not for the first time.

I rise, my legs, and my body drenched in sweat. The simple act of standing feels like climbing a mountain, and I can't help but feel a surge of self-loathing as I catch my reflection in the window. I look like a shell of my former self — pale, gaunt, with dark circles under my eyes that make me look like a ghost.

God, I look disgusting.

Shame burns hot in my chest. But beneath the layers of self-hatred, a spark of determination flickers to life. I'm tired of feeling like shit. I'm tired of disappointing everyone who cares about me. I want — no; I need — to be better.

Leo watches me struggle with veiled impatience, his jaw clenched tight. I can almost see the words he's biting back, the lecture he's restraining himself from delivering.

In an almost completely deserted hallway, Leo leads me out of my private hospital room. He sets a brisk pace, his sturdy leather boots echoing through the entire floor. I try to keep up, but fall behind after only a few quick steps. I’m out of breath, clutching my knees, and gasping for air. Leo makes a disgusted noise inside his throat as he holds the elevator open for me.

I know that look. The one that says, I would rather do anything else in the world but this. And I can’t blame him. Who would want to be associated with an absolute fucking wreck like me? It still hurts me deeply, regardless. It burns me hotter than a branding iron to know that Leo is only here out of a sense of responsibility. He’s only here to clean up my shit. Again.

The silence between us is deafening as we make our way out of the hospital, each step an agonizing reminder of my weakened state.

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