Page 15 of All for her Forgiveness

I close my eyes, feeling its texture as I try to calm down, but then suddenly, I hear footsteps behind me, and somehow I know it's him.

How is it possible that even though I don't remember the man, I can feel Hades Kostanidis' presence so intensely?

For a brief moment, I don't turn around. I don't know what to do or why he's here, but I force myself to remember he's not a friend or even a neutral bystander. The man hates me.

I turn to face him and take a few steps back, unable to hide my fear. "What are you doing here? You can't enter our property. It's private, and if you lay a finger on me, I'll scream."

For a second, I see surprise in his eyes. Then something I can't define, something that resembles pain, but of course, it must be my imagination.

Hades Kostanidis wants to lock me away, if possible, forever.

God, he had to show up today when Ernest is away and said he won't be back until tonight?

"I'm serious. Leave. If you harm me, you'll go to prison. The same place where you want me to spend the rest of my days."

Hades

I know I shouldn't be here, but from the moment Ares told me Kennedy is a mother and questioned whether there's a chance I could be the father, I knew I'd come.

Not because I think the child is mine. There's no way. We never got that far. But maybe, as part of the hell I'm living, a masochistic side of me wanted to confirm that everything Pam said about Kennedy being with Ryan, even though she herself denied it, was true.

There's no explanation for how insane I went imagining her giving birth to someone else's child, carrying them in the belly where mine should have been, but nothing prepared me for the fear in her eyes—fear of me—as if she believed I could harm her or the boy.

"I don't hurt women or children."

I see her eyes widen. "How do you know about my son?"

"What difference does that make?"

"You're right. It doesn't matter. Now leave, or I'll call the police. I don't believe anything you say, just like you don't believe I've lost my memory and think I helped kill your ward. As far as I know, you want me dead. Maybe you won't stop until you get what you want. I don't trust your word, Hades Kostanidis. I found out you've been paying that psychiatrist since I woke up from the coma to evaluate me. You wanted to catch me lying, to confirm my amnesia was a sham, but know that I'd give anything to remember because I can't even defend myself from what—” She stops speaking and screams. Her face, still as beautiful as before, contorts in pain. "Oh my God!"

"What's wrong?" I ask, taking a step closer.

"I think . . . I was stung by a bee," she says, bending over and grabbing her ankle. Despite clearly suffering, she extends her other hand, trying to push me away. "Go away, I don't need your help. Stay away from me and my King."

For the first time in my life that I can remember, I feel lost. "King? Is that his name?"

"Yes, now please leave, sir. I don't know what you expected coming here, but I still don't remember anything. I'm sorry I can't give you answers, but . . .ohhhhhh, Jesus! I'm having an allergic reaction."

I notice her arms, legs, neck, and face are starting to turn red and swell. Ignoring the fact that we hate each other, I pick her up and start walking towards the house.

"I'll call an ambulance," I say, laying her carefully on the sofa.

As I grab my phone, I hear a child crying.

I have nephews; I know how they sound when they're upset.

"Where is he?" I ask Kennedy, noticing her allergic reaction is worsening, but seeing from her look that she doesn't want me near her son. "I won't hurt him, Kennedy. I'll wait until the ambulance arrives and stay with him until you return from the hospital."

"No!" she says, crying, but her eyes are unfocused, and I think she doesn't even know what she's protesting against anymore.

The child cries again, and she points to a hallway.

As I walk there, the response I get on the phone is that the ambulance won't arrive for at least half an hour. Judging by Kennedy's condition, she won't be able to wait that long. I decide I'll take her there myself.

I open the door to a room and come face-to-face with the little boy, standing and staring at me. The crying stops instantly, but he doesn't smile.

"Hey, buddy, we need to take your mom to the hospital."

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