Page 83 of Shattered Echoes

And in return, he sends me his music, each chord a caress upon my soul, each lyric a gentle reminder of the depths of his devotion. I lose myself in the melodies, letting the notes wash over me, soothing the aches and fears that still linger in the darkest corners of my mind.

Together, our art becomes a fusion of love and healing, a sacred space where our souls intertwine, even as the physical distance between us stretches on.

As time goes by, I can feel the life within me growing stronger, more insistent in its demands for attention. The kicks and flutters, once gentle whispers, become powerful and difficult to ignore, bringing with it the tension that I’m certain every mother must experience weeks before childbirth.

In those quiet moments, when the world outside seems to fade away, I talk to our unborn child, my hands cradling the swell of my belly as I whisper soft endearments and promises of the future that await.

"Your father is such a remarkable man," I muse, tracing idle patterns across the taut skin that shields our little one from the world. "He's fighting so hard for us, my darling, battling demons that would break lesser souls."

A firm kick punctuates my words, as if in agreement, stunning me out of my reverie. I laugh, patting my belly. This late in my pregnancy, even the smallest tasks leave me covered in sweat and struggling to catch my breath.

"Oh, you're a feisty one, aren't you?" I tease, my voice laced with affection. "Just like your father, always ready to take on the world."

The thought fills me with a sense of pride, of awe. In that moment, I can see glimpses of the person our child will become, a fierce warrior imbued with the strength and resilience of their parents. A soul forged in the fires of our love, tempered by the battles we've fought to reach this point both and together.

I can hear voices in the garden outside my bedroom window, and I make my slow, shuffling way to the balcony overlooking the garden. Henry is down there, talking to Martha about something. I lean on the railing and watch my brother, grateful for how far we’ve come since I found out about his betrayal.

It feels like worlds ago it happened, and he’s done everything possible to atone for his mistake ever since. Our conversations still feel strained sometimes, but we are a long way from where we used to be some months ago.

He turns and looks up, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand. He recognizes me and his lips curve into a smile, but it is quickly replaced with a frown. “Hey Col! What the hell are you doing out of bed? You know you could risk slipping and hurting yourself or the baby. Or both!”

I laugh. “Oh please. If you were in charge, a bunch of servants would take me to the bathroom in a palanquin.”

“Rightly so,” he teases, his frown easing. “Anything for your safety.”

“Don’t worry,” I say. “I feel stronger than I have in—”

A sudden pressure in my groin cuts me off and I gasp, clutching the railing tight for balance. My sight blurs and my hearing feels a little distorted. I look down at the garden and see Henry shouting a concerned query at me, just as a line of hot liquid pours down the side of my leg.

“Col?” Henry shouts again. “Are you alright?”

Wide eyed, I reply. “I hope so. I think my water just broke, Henry.”

28

Antonio

The sleek leather of the steering wheel feels foreign beneath my fingertips as I guide the car through the winding roads leading back to Shadow's Bend. Each mile marker ticks by with agonizing slowness, the distance between me and my destination stretching out like an infinite chasm.

Eight months.

It's been eight long, grueling months since I last set foot in this town, eight months of battling my demons, day by agonizing day. The road to recovery has been arduous, paved with relentless cravings and the ever-present specter of my past failures looming over me like a dark cloud.

But I've persevered. I've fought, clawed, and bled for every inch of progress, driven by a purpose more powerful than any I've ever known before.

Colette. My child. My family.

The words echo through my mind like a sacred mantra, filling me with a resolve that burns brighter than the midday sun beating down on the windshield. They are the core of my being now, the twin flames that have guided me through dark nights and long, harrowing days.

As the town's familiar silhouette emerges on the horizon, a tremor of anticipation ripples through me. Very little has changed, and yet, there's a strange sense of comfort in the familiarity of these streets, these buildings. I take the turn onto Main Street, the car's tires crunching over the well-worn pavement. Memories come flooding back, unbidden.

Afternoons spent lounging on the town square with Leo, our laughter carrying on the warm summer breeze and evenings whiled away at the local diner, swapping stories and dreams over plates of greasy fries and thick milkshakes.

A bittersweet pang tugs at my heart as I pass by the old haunts of my youth. So much has changed since those carefree days, the innocence of our childhood worn away by the harsh realities of life. I think of Leo, his face etched with worry and grief, and my chest tightens with a familiar ache of guilt.

No more, I vow, my knuckles whitening as I grip the steering wheel tighter. No more pain, no more regrets. I'm going to make things right for all of us.

It’s a busy day in town, busy as one can expect in Shadow’s Bend. I get out of the car and stride into the flower shop across the road from me. There’s a weathered woman attending to plants in a corner, and the air in the room is cloying with sweet scents and fragrances.

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