Page 52 of The Mercenary's Hidden Heir

Feels like the only damn thing I deserve.

Kelli steps closer, slow and wary, her hand brushing over Aria’s head, pulling the little girl against her side.

She looks down at me, her face a map of every battle she’s fought without me.

Every night she cried alone.

Every smile she forced for those kids when the world tried to crush her.

And I left her to it.

I left her to it.

I bow my head, fists planted in the dirt and scrap under me, teeth gritted so hard it’s a wonder they don’t shatter.

"I..." I choke, the words ripping up my throat raw.

"I don’t deserve you," I rasp.

Not her.

Not the kids.

Not any of it.

I hear a breath catch above me.

Maybe hers.

Maybe the kids’.

I don't lift my head.

Can't.

My heart pounds, a raw, aching thing inside my ribs, louder than the creaks of the broken shelter around us.

I feel a small hand—tiny, tentative—press against the side of my face.

Aria.

I risk looking up.

Her little brow is furrowed, mouth set in a serious line way too old for her size.

"You gonna be good now?" she asks, like she's laying down a damn law.

I huff a broken laugh, chest squeezing so tight it hurts worse than any wound.

"Yeah, little warrior," I say hoarsely. "I’m gonna be good."

Joren shuffles closer, clutching a battered toy ship in his free hand.

He stares at me with those green eyes that could've been mine at his age.

Silence settles between us—thick, but not as sharp now.

Not slicing me open at every breath.

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