Page 139 of Broken Honor

She pulls me in, arms wrapping around me.

“If you don’t want it, that’s okay. We let it go. But if you want this—if even a piece of you wants this—I’m not going anywhere. It’s yours. Ours. We’ll raise it together.”

The sob breaks through my chest before I can stop it. I collapse into her, fingers clawing at her blouse, nails digging into fabric as the weight I’ve been carrying shatters at once. She holds me like she’s holding what’s left of me together.

And I scream into her, all sound and no words. My face soaked in her shoulder. Her hands trembling at my back.

****

Back from the hospital, Bea leads me inside the house, her hand pressed gently against the small of my back. In the house, everything looks the same, but it doesn’t feel like home anymore.

“Sit,” she whispers, guiding me to one of the kitchen chairs.

I obey.

She moves around the kitchen. The clink of ceramic, the low hiss of the kettle. It’s like watching a memory replay itself—how Nonna used to brew tea after long days at the café. When Bea sets the cup in front of me, steam curls up to meet my face. I wrap my hands around it and breathe in. Chamomile and honey.

I sip slowly. She doesn’t say anything. Her eyes study me the way Nonna’s used to when she knew something was wrong but waited for me to speak first.

When I finish, Bea stands and helps me to my feet.

“Come on,” she says softly. “Let’s get you in bed.”

I let her guide me down the hall. My legs feel like they aren’t fully connected to my body. She draws back the sheets, helps me lie down, then pulls the blanket over my shoulders.

“Let’s talk when you wake up, okay?”

I nod once. My eyes close before I can even think.

I wake to the soft clink of a spoon tapping porcelain.

Bea sits beside the bed with a bowl in her hands, offering me soup. She feeds me, brushing a strand of hair off my forehead now and then. I manage to finish half of it before the heaviness pulls me back under again.

This time, sleep is not quiet.

I see him—Vieri—standing shirtless beneath a beam of light. I reach out to touch him, but blood blooms from his head. It runs in slow rivulets down his face, across his bare chest. I scream.

My eyes snap open. My throat is dry.

The room is dark, lit only by the moonlight bleeding through the curtains. I turn to see Bea curled in the corner armchair, her knees tucked to her chest, arms wrapped around a pillow. Asleep.

Quietly, I slip out of bed and pad over to her.

“Come on, Bea,” I murmur, nudging her shoulder.

She blinks up at me, dazed and half-asleep.

“Bed,” I whisper.

She nods groggily, letting me pull her up. I help her shuffle to my bed and tuck her under the blanket she’d given me earlier.

My chest tightens. She’s done everything. Carried me when I didn’t have the strength to move. I lean down, kiss her forehead, and step out quietly.

The kitchen feels colder than before. I walk barefoot to the sink, fill a glass from the tap, and drink slowly, staring at the moonlight reflecting off the tile floor.

I freeze, glass in hand. My eyes dart toward the hallway. At first, I think my mind is playing tricks on me again. I am seeing a figure by the door moving.

“Hello?” I whisper.

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