Page 38 of The Weight of Her Silence
“You’re not talking,” she murmured against his neck, biting lightly.
“There’s nothing to say.”
“Then don’t talk.”
Clothes were shed between gasps.
Nate pushed Camille against the bed, his mouth devouring her, his hands urgent and brutal. She welcomed it—this version of him. She thrived on the way he used her, needed her, let his control unravel inside her skin.
He wasn’t gentle. He wasn’t kind. But he was hers and that was enough. Their bodies moved together with a kind of violence that didn’t ask permission.
Every thrust was a refusal to feel. Every kiss was a betrayal. He gripped her hips like he was trying to break something open, and she clung to him like he was the only thing keeping her alive.
When it was over, they lay tangled in sweat and silence. Camille curled against his chest, fingers trailing along his ribs.
“She’s getting worse, isn’t she?”
He flinched.
Didn’t answer.
“You’ll lose her,” she whispered.
“And I’ll be here.”
He didn’t look at her.
Because part of him wanted to believe it. That when everything else collapsed, Camille would still be there.
Waiting.
Willing.
But another part—deep and sick with guilt—wondered what kind of man he’d become if that was true and whether he’d already lost everything that mattered.
Chapter 30
What a Mother Doesn't Say
Lila folded another shirt and placed it gently into the drawer. Her hands shook. She paused, pressing her palms to the smooth cotton, trying to steady her breath. Ava’s footsteps echoed faintly down the hall.
Lila had memorized her daughter’s walk. The soft urgency of it. The way it sped up when she was worried. She straightened and turned as Ava stopped in the doorway.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Lila said, her voice soft but breathless.
“Done with your homework?”
Ava frowned.
“Yeah. Are you… packing?”
“No. Just reorganizing.”
“You’ve been in here all day.”
Lila smiled. Not the bright kind Ava used to chase. The kind that tried to soften the truth.
“I like the quiet.”
