Page 70 of Ruthless Serenade

His muscular frame falters slightly, and even in the dim light, I can see he’s as shocked as I am. He takes a cautious step back, as if trying not to scare me. "Don’t freak out," is all he says,but it’s already too late. I am freaking out. Because if I didn’t know better, I’d think the man standing in front of me is…

Oh…

My…

God!

Maybe I’m still sleeping, and this is just a ridiculous dream. Maybe I’m so exhausted from the stress of yesterday that my mind is concocting this bizarre scenario. But as my eyes dart around the room, searching for any signs to confirm my theory, I realize with a sinking certainty that this is no dream. My senses are awake, acutely alert, heightened to the point that I can practically feel the pounding of my heart in my eardrums. This is reality, and the man standing before me is all too real.

"I knew it," I whisper, my mouth moving of its own accord. "I knew you were out there."

It’s all that comes out.

A second later, the room turns upside down and begins to spin around me. Another second later, the world goes black.

***

"Mindy! Mindy, wake up!" A voice, almost unnaturally deep, seeps through the thin veil of my daze.

I mutter something under my breath and shift my weight. I can feel the fog of unconsciousness slowly lifting. I’m disoriented and a strange heaviness presses down on me.Fragments of who I’d just seen - his face, his impossible presence - flood back into my mind.

"Mindy!" The deep voice calls out again, steady and insistent. My senses reluctantly return. I open one eye, catching sight of the tall figure standing above me. I’m immediately hit by a jolt of recognition, pinning me to the spot as if I’ve been nailed in place.

"Maron," I blurt, staring at him in disbelief.

It’s him!

It really is him!

And he’s alive!

I have no idea what he’s doing here. I have no clue how he found us. A thousand questions flood my mind, but I don’t care about them. All these years of secretly longing for him suddenly come crashing down on me like an avalanche. I don’t care about the past. I don’t care about how he pushed me away so violently, all those years ago. All I care about is that he’s alive and that he’s here.

Holy crap, he’s here!

The years have been unbelievably kind to him. He looks even more lethally, drop-dead handsome than I remember. His chiseled jawline, coupled with his five o’clock shadow, is just as gorgeous as ever. I can’t tear my eyes away from him. With his cheekbones that could cut glass, artfully tousled hair, and aura of brutal masculinity, Maron is still the ultimate portrait of male beauty. My mouth goes dry just drinking in the sight of him.

But there’s more to this moment than just seeing him again. Our eyes lock, and in that silent exchange, everything weonce felt - the longing, the heartache, the years of separation - flows between us without a single word. It’s as if we’re speaking a language only we understand, a silent telepathy that holds all the emotions we’ve been pushing down all these years.

"Maron, I…," I begin to say, but my throat suddenly feels clogged. My gaze moves to Sharon’s sleeping form, clinging desperately to Mr. Hoppy. It’s a miracle the hospital staff hasn’t confiscated that worn bunny for a hygiene wash.

"Is she yours?" Maron finally asks, his eyes drifting towards my slumbering daughter beside me.

I gulp. "She is."

As if on cue, Sharon begins to stir. She shifts her body and slowly opens her eyes. Eyes as strikingly blue as her father’s.

Then, the most bizarre thing happens. My baby girl blinks, and her eyes dart between Maron and me, eventually landing on Maron.

"Hi," she murmurs.

"Hello," Maron replies like it’s the most natural thing ever.

"Did you come to see me?" Sharon says, giving Maron a smile.

Maron returns her gesture. "Yeah."

My mind reels in disbelief. Is this really happening? Is my daughter speaking to Maron, or is my brain conjuring illusions?

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