Page 27 of Shattering

Cadi exhaled shakily, blinking back the moisture in her eyes. Then, she spoke.

"You know, when I woke up this morning, you and Tomos were the most important people in my life."

Gray's jaw ticked, but he didn't say a word.

"I loved you both more than life." She let out a breath, her voice dangerously steady. "But now I realize, I only ever had Tomos."

She turned fully to face him, her chin lifting. "And it is my duty to protect him."

Gray flinched. A flicker of something—pain?—crossed his face, but it was gone too quickly to be certain.

Cadi continued, her voice quiet but relentless.

"That should have been our duty—something you and I did together. But you failed at that. I would like nothing better than to never see your evil face again."

She took a deep breath and picked up her suitcase. "There is no sense in prolonging things. We will do the test tomorrow. I will bring him over at ten. Be here."

Gray didn't move as she dragged both suitcases toward the stairs. He followed her silently, his thoughts a tangled mess, his world fracturing faster than he could hold it together.

When she reached the door, she paused, one hand on the handle.

Then, without turning around, she said, "Though we are over, Tomos still deserves to have a father. He is young enough to forget what you have done."

Gray's breath hitched.

"And I hope you will do what is right when the test comes back."

Her voice was softer now, but no less certain.

"He doesn't deserve to be hurt more than he already has been."

Then, with deliberate finality, she gently closed the door behind her.

And just like that, she was gone.

Chapter 18

Cadi didn't drive straight to Callum's place.

She couldn't.

Instead, she found herself parked outside the public library, staring blankly at the old brick building, her hands gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping her from completely unravelling.

Her thoughts were a tangled mess—exhaustion, grief, fury—all knotted together into something she couldn't pick apart.

She couldn't go to a hotel. She couldn't face anyone who knew her, who might ask questions.

So she walked inside the library, picked a random book from a shelf, and sat down at one of the wooden tables near the back.

She didn't read.

Didn't turn a single page.

Didn't hear the faint rustling of paper, the quiet hum of whispers from other visitors, or the sound of the rain lightly tapping against the windowpane.

She just sat there, staring blankly at the words, the letters blurring together until they meant nothing.

Her mind looped back to the moment she threw the picture frame against the wall. The way the glass had shattered. The way she had expected to feel something—relief, catharsis, anything at all.

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