Page 22 of Unfaithful

With her phone off, he had no choice but to blow up mine instead.

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Sara stepped out of the taxi as I paid Hector, slipping him a generous tip that instantly wiped the tiredness from his face. He drove off in the next second.

Standing behind her, I watched her closely as she looked up at my house.

I had been assigned to cover war stories, standing in the middle of battlefields, filming complete and utter madness, and capturing the wreckage. I spent six days in captivity after kidnappers abducted me for ransom. I had been beaten, stabbed, starved, and pushed to the brink. Held at gunpoint. Shot in the leg.

I had endured every kind of pain imaginable.

And yet, my heart wasn't as strong as hers.

Right there on the sidewalk, I watched her shatter, and I didn't know what to do. The way she sobbed was soul-crushing, her tears soaking her face. She was so broken that I had to fight the overwhelming urge to scoop her up and take her far, far away from that asshole.

Then, just like that, she took a deep breath and pulled herself together. And damn, I couldn't have been prouder. She slapped him—good—but to me, it wasn't nearly enough. I would have been much more satisfied if she had stabbed him with a knife instead.

But she held her composure. She rose above them all.

I ground my teeth as the memory came back. Cole. He cheated and got that woman pregnant.

Fucking lying, cheating scumbag.

What the hell did Cole even see in that woman?

I couldn't even remember her name. Didn't even care to.

What could possibly have made him think she was better than Sara?

Because no one—no one—was better than Sara.

She was perfect.

"Archie," she called softly, and I instinctively drifted toward her as if pulled by an unseen force. "Will your parents be okay with me staying the night?"

"Of course," I replied without hesitation.

She looked up at me, a small smile forming on her lips. "Thank you," she whispered.

"You're welcome," I replied, warmth settling in my chest. "Let's go in."

Sara nodded and followed me to the house. We stepped inside and found Mom, as usual, in the kitchen, baking something.

The moment she saw us, her brows lifted slightly as her gaze flickered past me, searching. She was probably looking for Cole, as Sara usually came with him.

She smiled at Mom, who pulled her into a hug. Sara held her a little tighter, a little longer than usual. Like I said, Mom was an excellent hugger. And right now, Sara needed that. Comfort from someone she felt safe with.

Luckily, Mom was wise enough to read the situation. One look at Sara's face and she knew something was wrong. She didn't pry, didn't ask questions. Instead, she simply said, "My butter cake just came out of the oven. Fresh and warm. Want some?"

Sara glanced at me, then back at Mom. "Yes, I'd love that," she said with a small smile.

I wondered how she could still sound so steady, so firm, after crying so hard just moments ago.

She helped Mom cut the cake, carefully placing slices onto small plates. After thanking her, she ate—small bites, chewing slowly, her gaze fixed on the plate as if it held all the answers.

Mom's eyes flicked to me, silent questions written across her face.

I could only shake my head.

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