Listen to Some say by Nea

The sharp crack of the gunshot split the air, and my heart lurched in my chest. Panic surged through me like a tidal wave, and instinctively, I pulled Kayden closer, clutching him to me as though he were my lifeline. The sound of the bullet ringing through the air was deafening, my ears buzzing with the chaos.

"Get inside!!!"
Tristan yelled grabbing my arm and pulling me inside the house. He shut the door quickly and faced me.

Tristan's face was a storm of fear and determination as he turned to me, his hands trembling as they brushed over my face, scanning for any sign of injury. His touch was both tender and frantic, the urgency in his eyes making my breath catch in my throat.

"Are you okay? How is he? Is he hurt?" His words came in a rush, his voice raw with panic.

"We're okay," I gasped, my chest still heaving from the rush of adrenaline. But even as I said the words, doubt lingered in my mind.

Another gunshot rang out, shattering the stillness, and Tristan's body tensed beside me. He reached out to take Kayden from my arms, but before he could, a violent explosion of glass erupted from the wall, shards slicing through the air.

"Everyone, get down!" Tristan's voice was pure command now, no room for hesitation.

I sank to my knees, clutching Kayden even tighter, pressing him to my chest as if I could shield him from the chaos. He buried his face in my neck, his small arms tightening around me in a desperate grasp. The heat of his tiny body against mine was the only thing keeping me anchored to the ground.

"Don't worry, baby," I whispered, my voice trembling with fear, but trying to sound calm for his sake. "Everything will be okay. Just close your eyes."

His tiny body shuddered against mine, but he obeyed, his small hands clutching me as though I were the only thing in the world that could keep him safe. The sound of gunfire kept echoing in the room, each shot ringing like a death sentence. The lunatic outside wasn't relenting, the relentless barrage of bullets shattering every glass, every artifact, every precious thing in its path. I could feel the tremors of the impact with each shot, each one a violent reminder of how close we were to the edge.

And then, a sickening crash. The chandelier—the beautiful, crystal chandelier—fell from its perch with a deafening clatter, its heavy frame crashing to the ground with a force that rattled the very foundation of the house.

Kayden's grip tightened around my neck, his small body trembling in fear. The weight of it all pressed down on me, suffocating, unbearable. I slid closer to the wall, pressing my body into its corner, trying to use it as a shield. My eyes darted around frantically, seeking a way out, a sign that we'd survive this nightmare.

And through it all, Tristan never left our side. His eyes were locked on me, his jaw clenched in a grim line, but there was something in the way he moved—protective, fierce, unyielding.

I swallowed hard, pressing my forehead to Kayden's, and whispered a silent prayer, hoping this nightmare would end before we were all consumed by it.

The air was thick with tension, every creak of the house, every echo of shattering glass, a reminder that someone wanted us dead. The sound of gunfire rang out again, relentless, like the very walls of the house were under siege. Why else would someone want to bring the whole damn place down?

"Shit, I left my phone in the kitchen," Tristan groaned, his voice tight with frustration. I watched him crawl toward the kitchen, his movements quick but deliberate.

"What are you doing? You might get shot!" My voice cracked with desperation as I reached out to stop him, knowing full well there was nothing I could do to change his mind.

"I need to call for help. Stay here," he ordered, his eyes locking with mine for just a moment. There was an intensity there, a promise of safety, of survival. 

"Tristan..." My voice broke, but he didn't give me a chance to finish.

"I will be fine," he cut in, his tone firm, almost too firm, like he was trying to convince not just me but himself as well.

I watched him go, helpless, every step he took gripping me with fear. His broad back, his determined stride, disappearing into the shadows of the hallway. My breath caught in my chest, the words left unsaid choking me. What if he didn't come back?

Tears welled in my eyes, and I blinked them away, desperately trying to hold onto my strength. I kissed the top of Kayden's head, my hands trembling as I held him close. 

"I love you so much, baby," I whispered, the words barely escaping as I sang his favorite song softly, the melody a fragile thread between us, something to hold onto in the chaos. "Close your eyes, baby. Everything will be fine. It's just a bad dream."

Kayden clung to me, his little arms wrapped around me like a shield. He didn't understand what was happening, but he felt the fear radiating from me, the same way I felt his small heart pounding against mine. The gunfire outside continued, the sound of bullets piercing the air, and I squeezed my eyes shut, praying this wasn't how it would all end. This wasn't how my story was supposed to go.I squeezed my eyes shut as the gunfire continued, shattering the glass panel. This was far from how I imagined my life to end.

I waited. And waited. The world outside fell still. No gunshots, no footsteps. Was the shooter out of bullets? Or were they reloading, waiting for their next chance?

My chest tightened as I waited for some sign, some hint of movement. But nothing came. The silence was unbearable.

A shaky breath escaped me, and I opened my eyes, the faintest flicker of hope threading through the darkness. I exhaled in relief, holding Kayden even tighter, pressing him to me as though I could will away the fear. It seemed safe. For a moment, I let myself believe it was over.

But as I looked down at him, I noticed his wide eyes—confused, scared, searching my face for answers I couldn't give. My heart cracked. I kissed his cheek, my hands brushing through his hair, checking for any sign of injury, my own panic starting to claw its way back up my throat.

"It's okay," I whispered, my voice shaky but steady, trying to offer him the comfort I didn't have for myself.

I pulled away slowly, my eyes scanning the wreckage that lay around us—broken glass, shattered furniture, the remnants of a life that was supposed to be safe. But where was Tristan?

"Tristan!" I shouted, my voice raw with desperation.

I stood up too quickly, the world spinning for a second as I grabbed Kayden, cradling him close to my chest once more. I jumped over the debris scattered on the floor, every inch of my body aching with the need to find him. To make sure he was okay.

But the house was eerily quiet.

I froze when I got to the dining, my heart sank at Tristan's unmoving body on the floor.

I forgot how to breathe as I saw the blood on the right side of his stomach and on his left arm.

"Tristan?"
I put Kayden down gently and ran to his body, I checked his pulse and sighed in relief when I felt his heartbeat.

He was losing so much blood, I stood up and ran to the kitchen to get something to stop the bleeding.

I paused with a horrified look when I saw Morris on the floor in a pool of blood.

"Morris?"
I reached down, my fingers trembling as they brushed against his neck, searching for a pulse. A ragged breath escaped me when I felt the faint thrum of life beneath my fingertips. He was still breathing, but for how long? The blood pooling around him was dark, too dark, too much. I couldn't bear to think about it.

"Okay, take a deep breath, you got this," I whispered to myself as I trembled. My hands shook uncontrollably, and my breath came in uneven gasps. I tried to steady myself, but everything in me felt like it was about to break. My body felt heavy, as if I was sinking deeper into a nightmare I couldn't escape.

hen, I saw Tristan's phone. It was a beacon of hope, something solid in the chaos. I grabbed it, my heart pounding as I checked it over, thankful it wasn't shattered into pieces like the rest of the world around me.

I swiped it open, only to find it locked.

No.

I let out a strangled sound of frustration, slamming my palm against the screen, as though it would magically unlock. My fingers were slipping, my mind racing, spinning out of control. Focus. Focus!

And then it hit me—emergency calls. Of course. I could still dial 911 even with the phone locked.

My hands were unsteady as I dialed the number, trying to explain the madness to the operator through the frantic blur of my thoughts. Every second that passed felt like an eternity.

As I spoke, I grabbed three towels from the kitchen, my movements mechanical as I moved back into the dining room. I knelt beside Tristan's motionless body, my hands pressing desperately against his wounds. The blood... God, it was everywhere.

The air was thick with tension. The sound of my rapid breaths seemed louder than anything else. I glanced at the kitchen, then back at Tristan, trying to figure out how to help both him and Morris at once. How could I possibly—how could I do this?  Moments like this, I wished I had superpowers.

I pressed a towel to his stomach, trying to staunch the bleeding, but it wasn't enough.

"Stay with me, please," I whispered, my voice thick with desperation. I touched his cheek, my hand trembling, smeared with his blood.

His face was pale, and his breathing was shallow. I glanced back at Kayden—he was standing in the doorway, wide-eyed and silent. The innocence in his gaze cut through me like a knife.

"It's okay baby, Daddy spilled jam on his shirt."
I said with a smile.

I tied the towels around Tristan's arm, applying pressure, while I continued to press the other to his stomach. The blood kept soaking through, and I could feel my own panic rising. Stay calm, stay calm...

And then, he whispered my name.

"Cassie..."

His hand gripped mine weakly, as if he was trying to anchor himself to me, but his strength was slipping away. His voice was faint, barely above a breath.

"I'm here. Kayden's here. Stay with us. Please... help is coming." I sniffled, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, trying to hold it together. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely more than a rasp. Each word sounded like it took everything he had, and the tremor in his breath was enough to shatter me.

I could feel the weight of his words, the guilt, the pain. 

"I will never forgive myself for hurting you. And if I die right now..." His words faltered, choking on his own breath. "...I will die happy because you're here with me, and our little boy. He is everything. I want you to be happy, Cassie. And it's okay if you still hate me. I deserve it."

His voice cracked, the raw emotion of it pulling at every corner of my heart, threatening to tear it apart.

"No one is dying, okay?" I whispered, my hand trembling as I cupped his cheek, my thumb gently brushing against his skin. The touch was meant to reassure him, but I could feel how hollow it sounded even to my own ears. My body trembled with fear, with helplessness, but I had to be strong. 

I leaned in closer, my breath shaky. "Stay with me, Tristan. Keep talking to me. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

He didn't respond immediately, and I panicked.

"I'm sorry," he murmured again, but it was softer this time, like he was slowly fading. His eyelids fluttered, closing, and the fight within him seemed to dissipate just a little more.

My heart shattered at the sound of his breath growing shallow, but I refused to let him slip away.

"Hey. Look at me." My voice was a desperate plea, raw with emotion. I gripped his face, my fingers brushing his stubbled jaw, trying to keep him tethered to me.

His eyelashes fluttered, struggling to open his eyes, and when they finally did, they were glassy, distant, like he was already slipping into the dark. But even then, he managed to whisper the words I never expected to hear.

"I never stopped loving you, Cassie."

His words hit me like a tidal wave, crashing over me with an intensity I couldn't fight. Everything inside me shattered, breaking into pieces that I didn't know how to pick up. I could feel the heat of my tears, but I couldn't look away from him. I needed him to keep fighting.

"Tristan, look at me," I begged, my voice trembling with emotion. I kissed his forehead, then pressed my cheek against his, as though the closeness might be enough to keep him here with me. "I'm here, Tristan. You have to fight. There is so much we need to talk about. You have to be strong. For them."

His head shifted slightly, a faint nod, but it was so weak, so fragile. He was barely holding on, and the thought of losing him sent a wave of panic through me, so intense I almost couldn't breathe.

I looked back toward the kitchen, feeling the desperate urgency of time slipping away. I needed to help Morris, needed to stop the blood from flowing. But I couldn't tear myself away from Tristan. The choice seemed impossible, and I was suffocating under the weight of it.

No. No. No.

I stood, my body trembling from the effort to keep my composure. But the sound of my breath was too loud, too jagged, and I had to choke back a sob that threatened to break me open.

I forced my legs to move, stumbling toward the kitchen, my heart hammering in my chest. I grabbed another towel, trying to steady my shaking hands as I knelt beside Morris, the cold dread settling in the pit of my stomach.

I searched frantically for the source of the bleeding, my hands trembling as they moved across his body. He hadn't been shot, thank God, but something had struck him hard—his head, blood seeping from a wound I couldn't stop.

Tears blurred my vision as I pressed the towel against the wound, my sobs wracking my body. What the hell was I supposed to do? I didn't know. I couldn't think.

I heard sirens in the distance, but they seemed so far away. The world outside felt like it was slipping through my fingers. How had everything come to this? How had we gotten here?

I could hear nothing but the sound of my own breathing, the panic, the helplessness, and the overwhelming ache of knowing that I might lose them both. 

I checked his pulse again, my fingers trembling as I pressed against his cold skin. A long, agonizing moment passed before I felt a faint thrum, a heartbeat, steady but weak. I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding, my heart lurching in relief.

The paramedics flooded into the room, their movements sharp and practiced. One of them immediately rushed to Kayden, gently scooping him up and carrying him out of the room. I watched, barely aware of anything else, as they hurried to check on my son—thank God he was safe, or at least out of immediate danger.

I barely registered the sound of boots against the floor, the way the police moved in, spreading yellow crime scene tape around the house, their faces tight with purpose. The chaos, the shouts, the rush of activity—all of it swirled around me, muffled like I was underwater.

A paramedic stepped toward me, his voice urgent but calm. "We need to get you checked out too." His hand was firm but gentle on my arm as he guided me toward the door. I nodded absently, still processing what had just happened, still trying to make sense of the scene that had unfolded in front of me.

But as I stepped outside, the cool air seemed to push against me like a wall. My body felt strange, like it wasn't my own. My vision blurred, everything spinning just a little too fast. I tried to shake it off, tried to breathe deeply and steady myself, but my body had other plans.

Black dots clouded my vision. My chest tightened. The world felt like it was slipping from under me, the ground suddenly too far away. My legs buckled, and the last thing I felt before everything went dark was the steady grip of someone's hands on my shoulders, pulling me into the safety of their arms.

Then, nothing but cold darkness.

∆

The steady tick of the clock was the only sound that filled the sterile air as I slowly opened my eyes. My vision swam for a moment, the white ceiling above me spinning in soft, dizzying circles. I blinked repeatedly, trying to clear the fog in my mind, but it took me a few moments to realize where I was. The faintly antiseptic scent, the faint hum of machines—the hospital.

I turned my head, my eyes moving lazily around the room until they froze on the last person I ever expected to see.

My breath caught in my throat as I recognized her, sitting in the corner of the room, her face pinched with concern—my mother.

"Mom?" my throat felt so dry.

"Chloe!" Her voice broke, a mix of relief and desperation as she jumped to her feet, rushing toward me. Her face softened with something that might have been affection, but I couldn't bring myself to feel it. Not anymore.

I didn't even hide the dark look I shot her way. I let the years of hurt and betrayal show in the coldness of my gaze.

She stopped when she saw it—the look. The one that said, you've hurt me too much to ever be forgiven.

"What are you doing here?" I managed to croak, each word like sandpaper against my raw heart.

She paused, wringing her hands as if she didn't know what to say. "I saw the news," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I had to see you. I was so worried, Chloe. I know you hate me, but please, just give me another chance. I'm still your mother."

I could feel the tears sting the backs of my eyes, but I wouldn't let them fall. Not for her. Not after everything. "I don't need your fake parental love," I spat, the words coming out with more venom than I thought I had in me. "Just leave."

Her face crumpled like she'd been slapped. A fragile tear slipped down her cheek, but I didn't feel sympathy. I couldn't. "I love you, Chloe. I always did. I'm sorry for the way we treated you. I know what we did was wrong. We hurt you, and we were wrong. Please, find a place in your heart to forgive us."

She was crying now, the sobs wracking her fragile body as she reached out for me. But I wasn't ready to accept her apology—not after everything.

She was crying now, the sobs wracking her fragile body as she reached out for me. But I wasn't ready to accept her apology—not after everything. Not after what she let him do. What they all let him do.

"I haven't been able to forgive myself," she continued through shaky breaths. "I should've listened to you. I should've been there for you, Chloe. I—"

I cut her off, my voice a cold, jagged edge. "You don't even know me, Mom!" I shook my head, my breath quickening as the memories of everything flooded me, the betrayal—the lies—the abandonment. "All you care about is perfection and the family's reputation! You kicked me out when I needed you the most!"

The words were like acid, burning as they left my lips. My pulse throbbed in my temples, but I held back the tears that threatened to spill.

She flinched, her sobs increasing in intensity, but I wasn't moved. Not anymore.

"I'm so sorry," she choked out, her voice breaking. "None of this would have happened if I had believed you. You wouldn't be in a hospital bed right now, and Kayden..." Her voice faltered as she said his name, as if it were a fragile thing that might shatter if she spoke it too loudly. "You wouldn't be hiding your child from the world."

The mention of Kayden hit me like a ton of bricks, knocking the wind out of my chest. I shot upright, panic flooding my veins, a sharp pain stabbing through my body. "Kayden!" I gasped, my heart pounding in my ears.

I shoved past the fog of exhaustion and pain that clung to me, my hands trembling as I searched for the one thing that mattered most.

"Where is he?" I demanded, my jaw clenched so tightly I thought my teeth might shatter.

I didn't care about her apology. I didn't care about the fake tears she shed now, not when my baby—my little boy—was out there, somewhere, and I had no idea where.

"The Sanchesters took him."

My heart slammed into my chest as her words hit me like a cold, cruel wave. The Sanchesters? They took him? No. No, that couldn't be right.

"What?" The word barely escaped my lips, thick with disbelief. I tried to move, to get out of the bed, my mind swirling with panic, but before I could even lift a leg, she was there—her hands gentle but firm, stopping me.

"He's fine, Chloe. They took him with them to give him a bath, to feed him," she said softly, her voice almost apologetic, like she was trying to soothe a storm she didn't understand.

I stared at her for a long, heavy moment, still struggling to catch my breath. Slowly, my pulse began to steady, but the shock of it all didn't quite fade. I nodded, the words escaping me as I sat back on the bed, my mind racing.

Her face—soft, tear-streaked, and raw—caught my attention, and before I could think, my hand moved instinctively to wipe the wet streaks from her cheek. I hadn't meant to, but it felt like the only thing I could do in that moment.

"You were so hard on us, Mom," I whispered, my voice cracked, the weight of years pressing down on me. "We needed a mother. Not someone who made us feel trapped. It wasn't just about kicking me out... there were times I wanted to come to you for help, for advice, but I was scared. I was scared because you took every mistake so seriously, like it was something unforgivable."

The words hung in the air, unspoken for so long. I wasn't sure if she'd heard me, but I felt it all—the pain of being a daughter who never felt safe enough to be human, to make mistakes and still be loved. Her breath hitched as she absorbed my words, and I saw the shift in her, the subtle crack in her hardened exterior.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice thick with regret. "I've been working on myself, Chloe. I've realized so much, and... I'm so sorry for everything."

For a fleeting moment, I wanted to hate her for the years I lost. For the distance, the silence. But something inside me—something raw and tender—whispered that maybe it was time to let go. Maybe it was time to stop carrying the weight of everything that happened three years ago.

I don't have to carry it anymore.

If I wanted to heal from the wounds that had scarred me so deeply, if I wanted peace—for myself, for Kayden—I couldn't hold on to the past. I couldn't keep living in a place where only bitterness thrived. I needed to be stronger. Better. For him.

I smiled at her then, even though there was still a flicker of anger, of hurt buried deep inside me. But I did love her, still. She was my mother, and despite everything, I couldn't change that.

She wrapped her arms around me, and before I could stop myself, the tears that had been so close to the surface broke free. She apologized over and over again, her voice muffled against my shoulder.

"It's fine, Mom," I whispered back, my voice strained with the weight of it all. I held her tighter, trying to soothe the years of distance between us with this single moment.

I pulled away, my mind already shifting to the next question, the next thought that needed to be spoken. "Where's Dad?" I asked softly, my voice uncertain.

The way she hesitated—the way her gaze flickered away from mine—made the silence feel suffocating. My stomach churned, sensing the weight behind her quiet.

"Mom?" I pressed, the unease building in my chest.

Her breath hitched, and then she broke, her voice breaking like glass. "He asked for a divorce," she whispered, her shoulders shaking. "We've been living separately for the last five months."

"Divorce?" I repeated, barely able to wrap my head around the words.

Her sobs broke through then, the kind of raw, painful sobs that made my heart twist. "It's my fault," she sobbed, as if she could bear the blame alone. "If I had just—if I had just tried harder, maybe it wouldn't have come to this."

I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could say anything, the door creaked open. She quickly wiped her face, trying to compose herself, but I could see the weight of the moment in her eyes, the heartbreak that seemed too much to bear.

"Mommy!"

Kayden's desperate cry shattered the fragile calm of the room. His small hands yanked free from Nora's grip, and without a second thought, he darted toward the bed, his little legs pumping furiously. But when he tried to climb up, his tiny hands slipped, and his whole body crumpled back down to the floor. The sight of him struggling sent a pang through my chest.

A soft whimper escaped his lips as he tried again, failing once more.

Laughter bubbled up from the others in the room—laughter that felt too sharp, too hollow in the heavy air. But before I could react, my mother was there, gently lifting him into her arms, her hands steady and warm. She helped him right himself, and with a renewed determination, he crawled straight into my arms.

The moment he reached me, his small hands locked around my neck, holding on like I was his lifeline.

"Hey, sweetie," I whispered, pulling him close, my heart swelling as I kissed his soft cheek.

"Miss me?" I asked, my voice thick with emotion as he nestled closer, burying his face in my neck. His small nodding head was the only answer I needed.

"I missed you too," I murmured, brushing a strand of hair from his face with a shaky smile.

In the midst of the quiet, tense moment, the voice of the Sanchesters pulled me back to the present. I stiffened, instinctively pulling Kayden tighter against me as if he could shield me from the flood of memories that threatened to rise.

"Chloe," Nora said softly, her eyes lingering on me, but there was no mistaking the distance in her gaze. Nana, behind her, avoided eye contact altogether, the tension thick enough to cut through.

"How are you feeling?" Mrs. Sanchester asked, stepping forward, her expression tight with something unspoken, a hint of guilt maybe—or was it concern?

I gave her a flat, emotionless glance. "Fine."

I could hear the hollow sound of my own voice, like I was speaking through glass, distant, detached. I didn't have the energy for pleasantries, not after everything.

"We're really sorry for—"

I cut her off before the words could slip any further. "It's fine."

But it wasn't fine. I wanted to scream that it wasn't fine—that nothing about what had happened three years ago was fine—but I kept it inside, holding it in because I couldn't afford to go back there. Not now. Not when everything had to be about Kayden's future, about giving him a life that wasn't weighed down by them.

I shifted in my seat, Kayden still wrapped securely in my arms, his tiny breaths steadying against me. "How is Tristan?" I asked, preparing myself for the answer I already feared.

Nora's expression softened, and for a brief moment, there was something almost human in her gaze. "He's doing okay. He just woke up." She said it with an odd smile, but I noticed the faintest flicker of something else—an old, lingering bitterness that seemed to cloud her features.

"What about Morris?" The words felt heavy as they left my mouth.

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence. No one spoke for a moment, their faces turning grim.

I looked from one face to the next, searching for an answer. "What happened?"

"He is in a critical state, he is under life support."

Mrs. Sanchester replied.

The air felt thick, the weight of her words pressing down on me like a physical thing. Life support.

The thought of Morris—always kind, always so steady—fighting for his life, felt like a cruel twist.

"Did the police catch the suspect?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

My mother's voice was tight when she answered, a sharp edge of frustration beneath the words. "Sadly, no."

"But I'm sure we'll catch this monster," Nana added from behind, her eyes dark with something I couldn't name—anger, fear, maybe regret. She met my gaze and gave me a sad smile, but it only made my stomach tighten.

I swallowed hard, the need to see Tristan gnawing at me, the tension clawing at my insides. 

"I need to see Tristan. What room is he in?" I asked, my voice shaky but determined.

"Room 35," Nora replied quickly, her tone softer now, though I couldn't tell if it was genuine or just an effort to seem helpful.

Before I could move, Nora was on her feet, and Kayden, who had been squirming restlessly in my arms, began to cry. My heart twisted, but Nora was already reaching for him.

 "I'll stay with him," she said.

She took him from me with surprising gentleness, and when his cries escalated, she offered him her phone. The moment he saw the screen, he stopped wriggling, his tiny hands grasping the device as if it was a lifeline.

I eased myself down from the bed, the dull throb in my head still present but not overwhelming. My fingers trembled slightly as I slipped into the hospital slippers, the soft fabric brushing against my bare feet, and then grabbed the blue robe that hung forgotten by the corner. I wrapped it around myself, letting the cool fabric settle against my skin like a shield, hiding the rawness of everything that had happened.

As I left the room, no one paid me any attention. The sounds of Kayden's laughter echoed from the living room, his tiny voice a sweet, innocent reminder of what I was fighting for. The Sanchesters surrounded him, all smiles and concern, but I couldn't bring myself to stop and engage. 

I moved down the long hallway, the fluorescent lights casting a cold glow on everything in my path. Room 35. I counted the doors quietly as I passed, my heart thudding in my chest, each step heavier than the last. When I reached the door, I knocked softly before pushing it open, my breath catching in my throat.

There he was.

"Cassie."

His voice was a soft rasp, laced with both relief and something I couldn't quite place. I stopped in my tracks, my heart skipping as I looked at him. Tristan. His gaze met mine—tired but steady—and his lips parted into the faintest of smiles. That smile... it melted something deep inside of me. Something I wasn't sure I could afford to feel anymore.

I walked to the side of the bed, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. He was propped up against the pillows, his body bare from the waist up, the white bandages stark against his skin. His stomach was wrapped in a thick, sterile gauze, and the bandage on his upper arm seemed almost too tight, as though it had been applied in haste. His skin was paler than usual, but even in this state, he still exuded that magnetic energy that always had a way of drawing me in.

I sank down into the chair beside him, my eyes not knowing where to rest first—on his wounded body, or the way he was watching me, his eyes full of something I couldn't decipher.

"How are you feeling?" The words came out low, almost a whisper.

"Better now that I know everyone is alive," he answered, his voice rough but sincere, as if the relief was the only thing that mattered now. His lips twitched upwards again, but this time, there was an edge to it—a bittersweet acknowledgment that none of this should've happened in the first place.

I couldn't stop myself from responding, the anger, the fear, the frustration—everything that had been clawing at me ever since I saw him lying there—boiling over. "Well, I warned you. You didn't even make it to the kitchen." My voice trembled with the weight of unspoken words, the fear I'd felt when I thought he wasn't going to make it.

He chuckled softly, the sound a rasp of pain, but still so familiar. His eyes crinkled at the corners, the kind of laugh that used to make my heart skip, before everything had gotten so complicated.

"You think it's funny?" I asked, my voice rising before I could stop it. The knot in my chest tightened. "What if you got killed, Tristan? What if you—" I couldn't finish the sentence. The thought of it was too raw, too real. I had almost lost him, and the weight of that knowledge was pressing down on me harder than I ever expected.

He shifted slightly, the movement slow, but his hand reached out to rest on top of mine. His fingers were warm, despite the coldness of the room, and the gesture alone made my breath catch. "Cassie," he said softly, his eyes locking onto mine with a quiet intensity that made my pulse race. "Everyone is fine. That's all that matters now."

I swallowed, my throat tight as I shook my head, unable to hide the tremor in my voice. "You wouldn't have gotten a bullet if you just stayed. You almost died, Tristan. You would've been dead." The words came out in a rush, my emotions spilling over the edge. 

His lips curled into a gentle smile again, though it was tinged with sadness this time. His eyes held mine, steady, calm despite everything he'd been through. And I realized, as much as I wanted to shout at him, to tell him how stupid it was to risk his life for everyone else, a part of me couldn't help but feel... grateful. 

"Why are you smiling? I'm yelling at you," I said feeling annoyed.

"If I had to, I would do it all again. For you. For Kayden." he whispered and I looked away from his face.

"Well, Kayden deserves better, and you're his father. I can't hate you forever." My voice was quiet, almost a whisper, as I stared at the door, unable to look at him. The weight of those words hung in the air, heavy with everything I still felt and everything I had yet to forgive.

"Right," he mumbled, his voice raw, barely audible.

I couldn't read his tone. Maybe I didn't want to. But the silence between us felt like an ocean I couldn't cross, no matter how badly I wanted to.

"Thanks for giving me a chance," he said after a moment, and his words stung more than I wanted to admit.

"To be a father again." He added, the understanding in his voice so deep it startled me. It was as if he could hear the unspoken thoughts swirling in my head. How could I not tell him now? My fingers curled into the bedspread, the tension inside me tightening. How long can I keep it inside?

I let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sigh. "I already suck at parenting anyway," I muttered under my breath, more to myself than him. The words came out bitter, but I didn't want to share the real reason behind my doubt, the secret that had started to eat away at me. Lies had a way of doing that. The more I buried it, the more I could feel it tearing through me, but I wasn't ready. 

"No, you don't." His voice was softer now, as though it pained him to say it. "You've been a great mother."

I almost smiled at the absurdity of it. But I bit it back, the bitter taste of his lie hanging in the air between us. We both knew it wasn't true, but he was trying to make me feel better, and for that, my chest tightened with something I couldn't quite place. It was a twisted comfort, but it was comfort nonetheless.

Tristan shifted on the bed, and I immediately tensed, watching him wince.

"Should I call for help?" The panic flared in me before I could stop it, my hands trembling slightly.

"No," he whispered, his voice strained but firm. "Just help me adjust the pillows."

I breathed out, the knot in my throat loosening, but my heart was still thudding too loudly in my chest. "Okay." I stood up and leaned over him, the movement slow and careful, trying not to hurt him more than he already was.

I reached for the pillows, lifting them gently, adjusting them beneath his head with the tenderness I had forgotten I could still offer him.

"Is it okay?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, afraid my words would break the fragile calm we had somehow found.

He didn't answer at first. Instead, he just stared at a spot on my temple, his gaze intense, like he was trying to memorize the curve of my face, or maybe he was lost in his own thoughts. And for a moment, the world outside the room felt distant, the chaos, the violence, all of it falling away as he reached up, his hand moving toward the small cut on my temple—the one from last night, the one I had forgotten about in the aftermath of everything.

His fingertips brushed against the wound, so gentle it almost made me forget to breathe. He didn't say anything, but I could feel the weight of his gaze on me, the heat of his touch igniting something I couldn't name. My pulse quickened, and I found myself staring at his face, at the way he was studying me, at the softness in his eyes that made the room feel unbearably small.

The warmth of his hand against my skin held me in place, and for the briefest second, I allowed myself to close my eyes and just feel him there—his presence, his touch, his everything. It was the same as it always had been, even after all the time apart.

When I opened my eyes again, he was still watching me, his hand lingering against my face. The weight of his attention was almost too much to bear, like he was seeing me in a way no one ever had.

"I'm fine, Tristan."

I tried to sound steady, but I could feel the tension in the air between us. His jaw tightened at my words, the muscle there ticking with something I couldn't quite place. It wasn't anger, but it wasn't relief either.

"Tristan." My voice came out softer, pleading almost, as I watched him continue to trace the cut on my face with his thumb, his eyes fixed on the small, insignificant wound as if it were the only thing keeping him from looking directly at me. He didn't say anything, and that silence was unbearable.

"Tris..." My voice broke.

"You deserve to be happy, Cassie," he whispered, his words barely more than a breath. "I came back, and your life is already a mess. I tried so hard to stay away from you... but I couldn't."

A knot formed in my chest as the weight of his words pressed against me. His pain—his guilt—was palpable, and it felt like it was suffocating me too. I nodded, fighting back the lump in my throat. "Yeah, I know."

I didn't need him to say it. I already knew. Things had spiraled out of control the moment he returned. And now, in this fragile, fractured moment between us, I couldn't escape the haunting truth that I still wanted him, in a way that terrified me.

I adjusted the pillow under his head, moving it slightly to the middle, trying to focus on something—anything—other than the storm swirling inside me.

"Are you comfortable?" I asked, my voice coming out hollow as the silence between us stretched longer than I wanted.

But then, just as I thought I might drown in the quiet, he broke it again. "I still love you, Cassie. I can't stop it. No matter how much I try."

The words hit me like a punch to the chest. My breath caught, and for a moment, everything around me seemed to disappear. It wasn't just the words. It was the way he said them, with a raw honesty that made my heart twist painfully in my chest.

I opened my mouth to respond, but no sound came out. The words I wanted to say—how could I say them? What did I feel? How was I supposed to react to that?

His thumb brushed the baby hairs on my temple, his touch so tender that it almost broke me. His eyes held mine with an intensity that felt like he was trying to pierce through every wall I'd built. His gaze was so full of longing, regret, and something else—something that felt too much, too soon.

Why does he have to say this now? I thought desperately. My heart was racing, a thousand emotions warring inside me. I wasn't ready for this. I wasn't ready for him to still feel this way. I wasn't ready for him to pull me back in, not when everything inside me still ached from the past, not when I had spent so long building walls to keep myself safe.

"I deserve it, if you hate me," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper.

He brushed my hair back from my face, his fingers grazing my skin like a lover's touch. His gaze never wavered, and in that moment, it felt like he could see straight through me. The distance between us felt like a chasm, but his touch, his presence, was pulling me closer with an invisible force I didn't know how to fight.

His hand moved to my neck, a soft, deliberate touch that made my breath catch in my throat. His fingers were warm, steady, and when he slowly pulled me toward him, it felt as if time itself had stopped. His lips were a whisper away from mine, and in that moment, I wanted to kiss him just as desperately as I wanted to run away.

No, my mind screamed, but my body didn't listen. It was a battle I couldn't win.

But before I could give in to the pull, before our lips could meet, the door to the room swung open with a sharp click.

Everything froze. The sound of footsteps, the sudden intrusion, it all felt like a cruel interruption to a moment that had teetered on the edge of something dangerous.

Tristan and I both jerked apart, my heart pounding in my chest like it was trying to escape. I could feel the heat of his breath still on my lips, the ache of what could have been. But it was gone, replaced by the harsh reality of the world outside this room.

I turned toward the door, where Detective Emily and Detective Clooney stood in the threshold, their presence an intrusion that I wasn't quite ready for.

The sharpness in Tristan's eyes softened, but there was an edge to his voice, a weariness that I knew too well. "Sorry, should we come back later?" Emily asked, her voice laced with polite hesitation, though the slight tension in her posture betrayed her own discomfort.

"No, it's fine," I said quickly, sitting back and pulling away from Tristan's warmth. The space between us felt cold, the absence of his touch somehow more noticeable now.

"Thank you," Detective Clooney murmured as they both stepped inside.

I could feel Tristan tense beside me, but he didn't look away. His eyes—dark and focused—stayed locked on the detectives, his jaw set as if every word would be measured and deliberate.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Sanchester?" Emily asked, taking a few steps closer to his bed, her gaze flickering between him and the bandages wrapped around his torso.

Tristan didn't respond immediately. Instead, his eyes narrowed, a faint line creasing between his brows. "Have you found the person behind this?" His voice was low, but the sharpness in it made every word hang heavy in the air.

Emily hesitated, her gaze flickering to Clooney before answering. "We're still trying our best. We went through the CCTV footage from your house, but it wasn't very helpful. The person was masked, covered head to toe."

Tristan's eyes burned with frustration. His fingers tightened on the edge of the blanket, the muscle in his neck visibly twitching. He exhaled through his nose, a quiet growl of frustration slipping from his lips. "Seriously? Someone took my child, tried to kill us, and you have no lead on this monster?"

I could feel the tension in the room thicken, the words hanging between us, thick with the weight of helplessness. Tristan's voice had a raw edge to it that made my heart ache. 

"We're doing everything we can," Detective Clooney interjected, his voice steady but worn. "Can you tell us exactly what happened last night, Miss Simpson? Every detail might help us track something down."

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat, and began recounting every moment, every fragmented piece of that nightmare—what I'd seen, what I'd heard. I spoke about the gunfire, the chaos, the terror that had taken over the villa. Every word felt like it was being torn from me, and I had to fight not to tremble. The image of that night was still so fresh in my mind, the fear, the adrenaline, the overwhelming sense of helplessness.

But in the middle of my retelling, something—someone—pulled at my mind.

"What about Ryan?" I asked suddenly, my voice tight with unease. "What's happened with him?"

"Who is Ryan?" Tristan asked.

"It's a long story, " I said to him.

"We are still investigating, Ms. Simpson."

They asked a few more questions before leaving. I left with them trying to avoid any awkward moment with Tristan. My heart was still racing from the little contact we had.

∆

It had been three days since I left the hospital. My body was healing, but my mind was still tangled in the chaos that had engulfed our lives. Tristan remained at the hospital, his recovery slow but steady, and my days had become a blur of visits to his room, trying to keep Kayden entertained, and desperately searching for any hint of normalcy.

Morris' family came and went in the past few days, offering their support.

Today, Tuesday, I arrived with Kayden in tow, a tiny version of myself in his arms. We have only been here for an hour. He had already fallen asleep, his small body curled up beside Tristan, his head resting against his father's chest. It was a peaceful moment, a rare one, considering the storm that had torn through our lives.

Kayden's tiny, rhythmic breathing was the only sound in the room until the knock on the door broke the stillness. My heart tightened at the sight of Detective Emily and Detective James stepping inside, their faces unreadable, but something about their quiet, measured steps told me they hadn't come with good news.

I stood quickly, but gently, careful not to disturb Kayden. The detectives exchanged a brief look before Emily spoke, her voice steady but edged with something I couldn't quite place.

"I'm sorry," she began, her eyes not meeting mine. "But it's not him. We've done our investigation on Ryan and didn't find anything convincing us he was behind the attacks."

I felt my breath hitch in my throat, and before I could stop it, my hands pressed into my face, fingers digging into my skin like I could erase the weight of the words. Ryan. I'd been clinging to the hope that he was the one responsible—at least if it was him, I could make sense of it. But now... now, I was left in the dark again.

A quiet sob rose in my chest, but I fought it down, forcing myself to breathe.

"Who could it be, then?" I whispered to no one in particular. "If not him... who?"

Detective James stepped forward, his posture rigid, but his eyes softer than I expected. "We have a lead on someone else," he said. "It's still early, but we have a feeling it's him."

I immediately straightened, my heart pounding as if it were trying to escape my chest. The word "lead" felt like a lifeline, something to hold onto. Maybe there was a way out of this mess. Maybe we could finally find the person responsible for the chaos, for the fear, for the scars that would never fully heal.

"Who is it?" I asked, my voice trembling despite my attempt to sound calm. I could feel Tristan shift slightly on the bed behind me, but I didn't turn around to look at him. My eyes were fixed on Detective James, waiting for an answer that might give me some kind of hope.

My breath ceased when the words left his lips. No way, there had got to be a mistake somewhere.

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