Mara
Lucian’s phone rang again.
I stepped back from our embrace, sensing it was important. He answered, and I could tell immediately it was Austin. Something was wrong.
Lucian’s tone shifted—tense, clipped. He hung up, eyes uncertain. Whatever he needed to say, he was struggling to find the words.
“It’s okay, Lucian. Go,” I said softly.
He looked at me, torn. “Do you mind coming with me? We could check the house after…”
I wanted to say no. I was exhausted—emotionally, mentally. But I knew it took effort for him to ask. That simple invitation was his way of trying to keep me close, to anchor us.
Martha’s words still clung to the edges of my mind like smoke. I couldn’t shake them, but I also couldn’t live inside them forever. If I wanted to secure my future—and our children’s—I had to
