Page 50 of Say You're Mine

I will beat this. I will claw my way back to sanity, back to being the man Cara deserves. And when I do, when I'm finally whole again, nothing in this world will keep us apart.

Days bleed into weeks, a monotonous cycle of therapy and tests broken only by the occasional visit from Dante. He brings news of the outside world, of the legal battles being waged to keep Elaine's claws out of our lives.

"Cara's holding up," he assures me during one such visit. "She's a fighter, that one. Elaine doesn't stand a chance."

I nod, a mix of pride and longing twisting in my gut. "And the baby?"

Dante's face softens. "Growing strong. The doctors say everything looks good, despite the stress."

Relief washes over me, followed quickly by a fresh wave of frustration. I should be there. I should be the one taking Cara to doctor's appointments, feeling our child kick, painting the nursery we spent hours planning.

"Soon," Dante says, as if reading my thoughts. "You're making progress, June. Just a little longer."

But 'a little longer' feels like an eternity. Every day that passes is another day lost, another precious moment I can never get back. The need to see Cara, to hold her, to whisper apologies and promises against her skin – it's a physical ache, a gaping wound that refuses to heal.

And then, finally, after what feels like a lifetime of waiting, Judith gives me the news I've been longing to hear.

"I think you're ready," she says, a cautious smile on her face. "To see Cara, I mean. If you feel up to it."

The world stops. My heart pounds in my ears, a deafening drumbeat of anticipation and terror. "Really?" I manage to choke out. "You're sure?"

She nods, her expression serious. "You've made remarkable progress, June. The nightmares have decreased, your cognitive function tests are improving... I believe you're stable enough for a supervised visit."

Supervised. The word grates, a reminder that I'm still not fully trusted, still seen as a potential threat. But I push the resentment aside. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters except seeing her.

"When?" I demand, already on my feet. "How soon can we-"

"Easy," Judith chuckles. "We need to prepare Cara as well. Give us a day to make the arrangements, okay?"

A day. Twenty-four agonizing hours of waiting, of imagining every possible scenario. Will she be happy to see me? Afraid? Will she even recognize the man I've become?

Judith finds me pacing the balcony that night, my thoughts a chaotic whirlwind of hope and dread.

"You should be resting," she chides gently. "Big day tomorrow."

I laugh, the sound edged with hysteria. "Rest? How can I possibly rest?"

She steps closer, her hand on my arm. "June, look at me."

I meet her eyes, so like my own, and see the fierce love there. "It's going to be okay," she says softly. "You and Cara... what you have is special. Unbreakable. Trust in that."

I nod, swallowing past the lump in my throat. "What if... what if I'm not what she remembers? What if I'm too broken, too damaged-"

"Stop." Judith's voice is sharp. "You are not broken, June. You're a survivor. And Cara loves you – all of you. The good, the bad, the parts that are still healing. Trust in that love."

I close my eyes, letting her words wash over me. She's right. What Cara and I have... it's more than love. It's a bond forged in fire, tempered by adversity. Unbreakable.

"Thank you," I whisper, pulling Judith into a fierce hug. "For everything. I couldn't have made it through this without you."

She squeezes me tight, her voice thick with emotion. "That's what big sisters are for, little brother. Now get some sleep. You've got a family to reunite with tomorrow."

Morning comes too slowly and all too soon. I stand in front of the mirror, barely recognizing the man staring back at me. I've lost weight, my cheekbones sharp beneath pale skin. But my eyes – they're clear for the first time in months, burning with determination and love.

"Ready?" Judith asks, appearing in the doorway.

I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders. "Ready."

The drive to Dante's compound is a blur of nervous energy and half-formed prayers. Please, let her still want me. Let me be strong enough for her, for our child.

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