Page 20 of Chains of Obsession

Chapter seven

The Aftermath

Matteo

The silence in theroom is unbearable. It’s a heavy, oppressive thing, wrapping around me like a vice. Amelia lies in the bed, her back turned to me, her shoulders trembling with the force of her sobs. I want to reach for her, to hold her, to tell her that we’ll get through this, but the words feel hollow.

How can I promise her anything when I couldn’t even protect our child? I run a hand through my hair, pacing the length of the room. The smell of antiseptic lingers in the air, a cruel reminder of everything that’s been lost. My chest aches, a deep, gnawing pain that I can’t escape. I’ve faced enemies who would slit my throat without hesitation, stood in the crosshairs of men who wanted me dead. None of it compares to this.

To the sight of Amelia’s tears. To the emptiness that now hangs between us. Her voice cuts through the stillness, quiet and raw. “Why didn’t you protect us?”

The accusation hits harder than any bullet. I stop mid-step, turning to face her. She’s sitting up now, her eyes swollen and red, but blazing with anger.

“I tried,” I say, my voice low, steady. But even I hear the inadequacy of the words.

“Trying wasn’t enough,” she snaps, her voice breaking. “I lost my child, Matteo. Our child. And you—you’re supposed to be this powerful man, this untouchable force. But you couldn’t save us.”

Her words slice through me, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. I move toward her, kneeling by the side of the bed.

“Amelia. I would have done anything to protect you. To protect our baby. But I failed. And I’ll carry that failure for the rest of my life.”

She looks at me, her anger faltering as tears spill down her cheeks. “I don’t know how to move forward,” she whispers.

Neither do I. I hover close, unable to leave her side, even when she pushes me away. The fire in her is still there, but it’s dimmed, flickering like a candle in the wind. I’ve never felt so helpless, so powerless. But I won’t let her fall apart. I just sit when she finally speaks to me without anger or resentment.

“I dreamed of holding him or her,” she says quietly, staring out the window. “Of what it might have looked like. Of whom it might have been.”

Her words pierce me, and I move to sit beside her, my hand hesitating before resting on hers. “I dreamed of that too. Of teaching it to fight, to stand strong in this world. Of keeping him or her safe.”

She turns to me, her eyes searching mine. “I don’t know if I can ever forgive you.”

The words hurt, but I nod. “I don’t expect you to. But I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make this right.”

Tears swell in her eyes again, and this time, when I pull her into my arms, she doesn’t resist. The grief doesn’t go away, but something shifts between us in those quiet moments. The walls we’ve built crumble, leaving us raw and exposed. I see her pain, her strength, her resilience, and I realize that I’ve never wanted anything more than to protect her. Not because she’s mine, but because she’s Amelia. Fierce, fiery, and utterly irreplaceable. And as I hold her close, I vow that I’ll never fail her again.

Amelia rests her head against my chest, her breathing uneven, and I can feel the weight of her grief in every tremor of her body. Her tears have dried for now, but I know the storm is far from over. When the first rays of sunlight break through the window, she finally shifts, pulling away slightly. Her eyes meet mine, and for the first time in what feels like forever, there’s something other than hatred there. Vulnerability.

“Why are you still here?” she whispers, her voice hoarse.

“Because I can’t leave you. Not ever. You don’t have to forgive me, Amelia. But don’t push me away. Not now.”

Her gaze searches mine, and I let her see everything—the guilt, the pain, the desperate need to protect her from a world that seems determined to hurt us both.

She looks down, her fingers twisting the edge of the blanket. “It’s not that simple, Matteo.”

“Nothing about us is simple. But I’m not going anywhere.”

One evening, I find her in the garden. The air is cool, the sky painted with the soft hues of twilight. She’s sitting on the stone bench, her arms wrapped around herself, and she looks so small, so fragile, that it makes my chest tighten.

“Amelia,” I say softly, approaching her.

She doesn’t turn, but she doesn’t tell me to leave, either. I take that as an invitation and sit beside her, leaving enough space so she doesn’t feel trapped.

“I’ve been thinking,” she says after a long silence, her voice barely above a whisper. “About what happens next.”

“What do you mean?”

She takes a deep breath, her hands twisting in her lap. “This... life. Us. Everything. It feels like a storm I can’t escape.”

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