And I stood there, frozen, as my daughter faded away.
That night, while Candice wept tears of joy for her son’s survival, I stood alone in the pouring rain—burying my daughter.
No one stood beside me.
No one held me as I sobbed over the tiny coffin lowering into the earth.
I had never felt so betrayed.
Home was no longer home.
The walls felt suffocating. I could still hear the echoes of Amber's laughter, still picture her tiny hands reaching for me, still feel the warmth of her body against mine before it went cold.
Matteo had always been my hero.
The man who had saved me when I was kidnapped. The man who held me through my nightmares, whispering that I was safe, that I would never be left behind again.
I had loved him for five years. And in the end, he chose to kill my daughter.
I sat on the edge of our bed, staring at the empty space beside me. My hands curled into fists, nails digging into my palms, but I barely felt it. All I could feel was the unbearable ache in my chest.
“You’re safe now, Cassandra. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Matteo’s words echoed in my head.
He had said that to me the night he found me. When he barged into that filthy warehouse, his fists bloodied, his face twisted with rage. I was tied to a chair, my body weak, my face bruised from the beatings I had endured.
And then—he had lifted me into his arms, whispering, “It’s over. I have you now.”
I had believed him.
Back then, he had been my savior. The only light in my darkness.
I had clung to him, even after the trauma. He had been patient, understanding, wiping away my tears in the middle of the night when the nightmares came. He had kissed my scars, promising that they didn’t make me any less beautiful.
I had thought his love was my salvation.
But now, as I sat in the same house we built together, in the same bed where we whispered dreams about our future—he wasn’t my hero anymore.
He was my worst betrayal.
I walked to our bedroom, placed the divorce papers on the nightstand, and turned away. I didn’t want to see this room again. I didn’t want to be reminded of the life we shared—the life he had destroyed.
I grabbed my suitcase, yanking clothes off the hangers, shoving them inside. I didn’t know where I was going, but I had to leave. I couldn’t stay in the same house that smelled like him, in a place where every corner reminded me of my daughter’s absence.