Page 73 of Back to You
“To The Rolling Pin!” Anna added.
“And to making sure she never stops feeding us!” Analyse chimed in, making everyone laugh.
Sebastian lifted his own glass. His gaze never left mine. “To you, Mari,” he said, voice steady. “And to everything you’re building.”
Glassed clinked. Laughter bubbled around me. I barely had time to breathe before he closed the space between us. His lips met mine, soft, lingering, yet full of unspoken promises.
My heart stuttered, then soared. The noise around us faded, the world narrowing to the taste of champagne on his lips, the heat of his hand resting at my waist.
When he pulled back, his forehead touched mine, his voice a whisper. “This is only the beginning, Mariana.”
And with him beside me, I knew he was right. Then my phone rang.
The sound cut through the moment like a blade, sharp and immediate, slicing into my chest before I even looked at the screen. The hospital. No. Not today, please. Not now.
My fingers shook as I reached for it. I could feel the eyes on me—Sebastian’s, Anna’s, Ruth’s—but their voices blurred, everything muffled as the world shrank to the flow of the screen in my hands.
I knew. Even before I answered, I knew.
Because I had felt this before—the hollow dread when my dad’s doctors called, the crushing silence before they told me he was gone. The same sick certainty the night Andrew never came home. Loss had a feeling…a weight. And it was settling over me now.
Swiping the call open, I brought the phone to my ear, my breath already shuddering. “Hello?”
“Ms. Vargas?” The nurse’s voice was gentle. Apologetic. Final. The heart-wrenching voice people use when they know the words they’re about to say will shatter you. “I’m so sorry.”
No.
“Your mother passed away a few minutes ago.”
No, no, no, no, no—My knees buckled.
The world tilted, blurred, imploded. My breath caught in my throat, jagged and sharp. There was a roaring in my ears, a violent crashing, like ocean waves pulling me under, dragging me into the dark. I tried to speak, but nothing came out.
The walls of the bakery blurred, the light too bright, too cruel. My mother…My mother was gone. I pressed a hand to my stomach, my body folding in onto itself, my chest caving as a sob ripped from my throat.
Someone was calling my name.
A hand touched my arm, warm and steady, but I jerked away violently, a broken sound escaping my lips. I couldn’t breathe. My chest wouldn’t expand, my lungs refusing to work. I had to get out.
I stumbled toward the door, nearly crashing into one of the tables. My vision was fractured, nothing making sense, the room bending and swaying under the weight of the words still hanging in the air.
Dead. She’s dead. She’s gone.
The words slammed into me, over and over, battering my ribs, breaking me open from the inside out. My mother was dead. A sob tore from me—ugly, raw, primal.
I barely made it outside before my legs gave out, and then I was on my knees. The pavement scraped against my skin, but I didn’t feel it. I didn’t feel anything except the pain cracking through my chest like an earthquake.
I rocked forward, my hands clenched into fists, pressing into the concrete as if that could hold me together. It couldn’t. Nothing could. My mother was dead.
“Mariana!”
The voice cut through the storm, distant and worried, and then there were hands on me, strong, and familiar. Sebastian.
I tried to push him away, but he didn’t let me. His arms came around me, solid, unwavering, pulling me into his chest. And I broke. A ragged, gut-wrenching sob tore from my throat, my entire body shaking violently against him.
The grief ripped through me, clawing at my ribs, my skin, my soul. Sebastian’s arms tightened, his hand pressing against the back of my head, holding me together when I was coming undone.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice thick, wrecked. “I’ve got you, Mariana.”
