Page 94 of Embrace Me Forever

In the bedroom, I help him settle comfortably on the bed, knowing well how the bustling environment of the hospital robbed him of proper rest.

I start with a light massage.

“You know, you’re a better masseuse than I am,” he murmurs appreciatively as I work his neck.

I lean down and kiss him softly. “Don’t get too used to it. I’m not running a spa here,” I jibe. But deep down, I know I’d do anything to make him feel better, pampering or not.

As Blake settles into a deep, healing sleep and Coco plays with Poppy on the mat in front of me, I take the opportunity to open the letter I discreetly tucked away earlier. The typeface and setup are familiar. Even before reading, I know it’s from Cristo. I unfold the paper with a mix of anticipation and resignation.

Dear Georgia-May,

I trust this note finds you thriving, even after all that’s come to pass. I’ve been keeping a respectful distance, but I wanted to reach out just this once.

I must tell you, I am genuinely proud of you. Sebastian wasn’t wrong when he told me that you were a veritable force of nature—and he wasn’t talking aboutStarCraftorHalo. In your fight, you’ve truly honored his memory.

As for me, I’ve decided it’s time for a new chapter, far away from any old aliases or haunts. Christian Cartwright will be nomore. I’m off to seek new horizons, where no tracks, digital or otherwise, can follow.

Before I go, there’s something you should know. The Thames Valley Police stumbled across some remains near the old cottage in Chiltern Hills. I leave what you do with that information to your discretion.

All my life, hellos and goodbyes were never necessary. So I leave you with these words: Live fully, never look back unless it brings a smile. And take care of Coco and your man.

Yours,

Cristo

Time seems to stretch and bend as I sit, absorbed in thought, while Coco plays with the robot dog, full of laughter. I’m so lost in watching her that I hardly notice Blake’s approach until he’s right beside me.

He sits down, his hand reaching out to caress my back, soothing without needing to ask why my face is etched with sadness.

“It’s from Cristo,” I finally say, handing him the letter.

He skims it, his eyes scanning the words that have weighed so heavily on me. After a moment, he wraps an arm around me, his embrace firm and supportive. “What are you going to do?” he asks, his voice a soft rumble of solidarity.

“I need to go there. I need closure,” I admit, the weight of the words seeming to lift some of the burden from my shoulders.

“I’m with you, Georgia-May,” Blake responds, his voice soft and resolute. He leans in to kiss my forehead tenderly. “We’ll go there as a family.” His eyes linger on Coco, her voice forming a sweet soundtrack to our somber conversation.

“Yeah, we could bring Anne with us. She could look after Coco while we sort out everything with the Thames Valley Police,” I suggest, still unable to utter the words ‘Sebastian’s remains.’

Blake stays silent, his quiet infused with empathy and accord, while his hand rests on my shoulder. In his eyes, I find an unspoken promise. He will stand by me through breakdowns or breakthroughs. This journey might dredge up the past involving another love, but the bond Blake and I share is rooted deeper than an age-old oak tree, transcending what once was.

I was blessed to have had a man like Sebastian. Now, to have Blake, who’s willing to go through hell and back, staying by my side as my past is unearthed and my future begins, is a miracle.

38

BLAKE

England certainly lives up to its gray and gloomy reputation. When we arrive in Oxfordshire, where the forensic unit of Thames Valley Police is based, the rain doesn’t just fall. It charges down in relentless torrents.

I hold Georgia-May close as we share an umbrella. In the lobby, we’re greeted by Detective Harris, a stern woman with a hawk-like gaze that seems to see straight through you. Her handshake is as firm as her no-nonsense demeanor, and with a brief gesture, she directs us toward a conference room.

After a quick exchange of pleasantries, we cut straight to the reason for our visit. She slides a few photos across the table. They show a quaint cottage surrounded by sprawling fields captured from various angles.

Georgia-May leans in, her fingers lightly tracing the edges of the photos. “Yes, that’s the cottage where I last saw Sebastian alive,” she murmurs.

Detective Harris singles out an aerial shot of the area. “We found the grave about two hundred meters north of that cottage, right here.” She pulls out a detailed map, pointing to a markedspot off a winding trail through the fields. The map clearly shows the topography and the remote location of the grave.

“How did you find it?” Georgia-May asks, leaning over the map to get a better look.

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