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I had to do this.

So I reached for her, my heart giving a kick when she stirred in my arms.

“Salut, Maria Petran.”

I lifted my arms and pressed a kiss against her tiny head.

“Draga mea,” I whispered.

She stirred again, then went still.

And so I sat, Fawn beside me, my daughter in my arms, tears running down my face.

TWENTY-SIX

Fawn

“They said I can go home tomorrow,” I said.

“Good,” he replied.

“Maria has to stay.”

He nodded. “I’ll have someone bring you back whenever you wish,” he said.

And then, as he had during the entire four days I had been here, he turned back to the window and looked out, standing still, silent sentinel. Everything hurt, my head where I’d hit it, my breasts, heavy and full with milk my daughter could only barely drink. And so did my heart.

I’d loved Maria from the instant I’d learned of her existence, had let myself make plans, dreamed of the life I would give her. And she was fighting for her life because of me, because I hadn’t been strong enough to protect her.

I hadn’t been strong enough to keep Vasile either.

He’d only left my side long enough to change out of his bloody clothes, and I don’t think he ate or slept. But he hadn’t looked at me, barely spoke to me. The only moment he betrayed an emotion was in the NICU with Maria, but even that was clouded with guilt, anger, heartbreak, probably all three.

“The police want to interview me,” I said.

“I know.”

“Should I talk to them? What should I tell them?”

He looked at me then, green eyes shards of ice. “Tell them whatever you want. I won’t interfere.” Then he turned away, his rejection another dagger in my already bleeding heart.

I didn’t know what that meant and started to ask him, but with another glance at him, so stiff and detached, the words died in my throat.

There was no reaching him, not by me, not anymore. Before I could stop it, a tear rolled down my cheek.

* * *

Vasile

She was silent, but I could feel her heartbreak. And it wasn’t just the tears that rolled down her face that told me. I felt her watching me, furtive like she’d been before, unsure, tentative. I didn’t blame her, knew I deserved worse, but I was thankful. She didn’t want to see me, could probably not bear spending time in my presence, but I couldn’t leave her, and she, for reasons I didn’t understand, was kind enough to let me stay.

“I must call and make arrangements,” I said abruptly, and then I left the room without looking at her.

It was a bitch move, weak, and my father would have slapped me if he were alive, but I couldn’t take it. She was trying so hard, offering me her pity and not her scorn, but I couldn’t accept it.

I’d done this to her, done this to my daughter, and every second that she’d lain in that bed, pretending that she wasn’t in pain, physical and emotional, had been excruciating. No less than I deserved, but Fawn didn’t, and yet there she was bearing the burden of my mistakes, her arms empty because of me.

Sorin milled in the hallway as he had for days, my usually exuberant brother calm, quiet, Natasha at his side, her own spirit unusually dampened.

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