His voice is low and warm. The words flow easily, and I find myself sinking deeper into the pillows as he describes Detective Connor Black arriving at a crime scene. The story is darker than anything I usually read, grittier, but Antonio’s voice makes it feel almost comfortable.
The rain picks up outside, drumming against the windows. I’m drifting, half-asleep, when the power goes out, plunging thebedroom into darkness. A moment later, thunder rattles the windows.
I’m moving before I can think, pressing myself against Antonio’s side, my heart slamming in my chest. The sound. That sound. It’s the same as the crash, the same deafening impact, the same violent interruption of everything safe.
“Hey.” His arm comes around me, pulling me closer. “It’s just a storm. You’re safe.”
Another crack of thunder. I flinch, and his arms tighten.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’ve got you, querida.”
I can’t respond. I’m shaking, and I hate it, hate that I’m falling apart over a storm, but I can’t make it stop.
He holds me tighter. His hand strokes my back in slow circles. He doesn’t tell me to calm down or that I’m overreacting. He holds me.
The storm rages outside. Rain lashes the windows. Lightning illuminates the room in brief white flashes. I press my face against his chest and try to remember how to breathe.
He sets his phone on the nightstand. “I’ll read more tomorrow. If you want.”
I want. I want so badly it scares me.
Slowly, the panic recedes. My breathing evens out. The thunder rolls again, more distant this time.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“I was four,” I start. “My mother hurt her shoulder playing tennis. The doctor gave her pain pills.”
He doesn’t say anything. Just keeps stroking my back.
“She got addicted. It happened slowly, and I was too young to understand. I just knew she was different.” I swallow. “She started making bad decisions. Driving when she shouldn’t have.”
Thunder rolls again. I press closer to him.
“One night, there was a storm. She put me in the car anyway. I don’t know where she was trying to go. I just remember the rain, and the thunder, and her driving too fast. And then we crashed.”
His arms tighten around me.
“I don’t remember the impact. Just the sound. And then the screaming. I don’t know if it was her or me.” I close my eyes. “CPS took me after that. I never saw her again. She lost custody, and a few months later, she overdosed.”
The room is quiet except for the rain. Antonio’s hand has stopped moving on my back, but he hasn’t let go.
“Is that why you refused the pain medication at the hospital?” he asks.
I nod against his chest. “I’m terrified of being a mother,” I admit. “I’m terrified I’ll fail like she did. That I’ll hurt our daughter somehow without meaning to. That I’ll turn into someone she can’t trust.”
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I’ve watched you for years. The way you love Meesha and Jessa. The way you care about everyone around you. The way you’re already thinking about our daughter’s future, worrying about being good enough for her.” His hand cups my face. “That fear you feel is love. Bad mothers don’t worry about being bad mothers.”
I want to wrap myself in his words and believe them. But years of self-doubt don’t disappear with one reassurance, no matter how much I want them to.
“She’s going to need more than just love,” I say. “She’s going to need stability. Consistency. Things I never had.”
“Then we’ll give her those things.” His voice is level. “Together.”
