Page 60 of Pastel Kisses

My lower lip quivers before I even feel it, the first crack in my barely held-together exterior. I don’t have time to process her words—her warmth, her relief, the miracle she just dropped on me—before familiar voices slice through the air like lightning.

Shouting.

“Are you sure it’s her?” my dad bellows from somewhere beyond the door, desperation and disbelief tangled in his voice like barbed wire.

My heart lurches in my chest. Then more voices join—deeper, frantic, overlapping.

My guys.

Each voice distinct, panicked, frayed at the edges. Their footsteps echo off the walls, rapid-fire questions being thrown at someone—probably the doctor—as they rush closer.

Then they’re here.

The door bursts open like a dam breaking under pressure, and the air shifts with the weight of their presence. Jaxton. Kamden. Liam. Lennox. Their eyes search wildly until they land on me.

And just like that, the room goes still.

Four sets of eyes widen, breathing halts. Then, in unison, their gazes drop—to my belly.

Their stunned silence crashes into me harder than anything Sarah ever did. They weren’t expecting this. Hell,Iwasn’t expecting this. Not like this. Not here.

Confusion. Shock. Anguish. Wrath.

Every emotion I’ve cycled through over the past few months paints itself across their faces in real time.

Then my dad steps forward, his expression sharpening into something dangerous. Protective. Misguided.

His eyes darken as he studies me—my face, the bruises, the swollen stomach—and I see the moment he fills in the blanks all wrong.

“Who had you, darling?” His voice is low, trembling—not from fear but from fury. “Who did this? Who got you pregnant?”

Oh no.

He thinks—hethinkssomeone hurt me in a way even worse than what I endured. He thinks I was violated.

My mouth opens, ready to correct him, to tell him everything—the truth, the love, the miracle. But the words die before they form, caught in the tangle of emotion swelling in my throat.

All I manage is a breathy, broken whisper. “Daddy…”

It’s enough.

His face crumbles, tears already streaking down his cheeks as he drops into the chair at my bedside. One of his large hands wraps around mine, the other covering his mouth like he’s afraid to sob out loud.

His forehead rests against the back of my hand as our tears mix—his falling like broken promises, mine soaking into the hospital sheets as months of fear and pain dissolve into something new: hope.

I cling to his touch like it’s a lifeline. His voice trembles as he speaks again, thick with emotion.

“Are you okay? What happened, darling? Who took you?” He swallows hard, like it hurts to ask. “How… how are you pregnant?”

I glance up at the others—my guys—my heart, my family. They're still frozen, silent, taking it all in. Jaxton looks like he’s been sucker punched. Kam’s jaw is clenched so tight I’m afraid he might crack a molar. Liam and Lennox exchange glances, shock giving way to something darker. Fiercer.

They don’t move yet. No one does.

But something deep inside me stirs—something stronger than panic, stronger than grief. A flicker of fire. Of home.

I survived.

The story pours out of me again, just like it has a dozen times already—to the doctors, the police, the nurses—but this time, it’s different. This time, it’s for them. For the men I love. For my dad. My voice shakes but doesn’t break as I recount every horrifying, twisted detail of the months I spent in that hellhole. Because theyneedto know. They deserve the truth.

---