Without acknowledging that maybe loving someone new didn't mean forgetting who came before.
Now, watching poison work its way through Eva's system, I realize what a fool I've been. How I've wasted precious time trying to protect myself instead of the woman who deserved everything I had to give.
Don't let it be too late…
Some mistakes don't deserve second chances…and I can’t allow this failure to mark her forever.
The dog howls again — a sound of pure anguish that echoes everything I can't allow myself to feel. Not yet.
Not while there's still hope.
I strip off my jacket, pressing it against the wound while fumbling for the compression bandage in my tactical gear. The fabric quickly grows warm and wet beneath my palms as I work to secure the makeshift pressure dressing in place.
But it's her eyes that make me falter—those striking blue-violet orbs staring unseeing at the night sky above.
The unique color I've only ever seen in one other person catches the moonlight in a way that transports me back to another time, another car ride, when those same eyes held more wisdom than any child should possess.
It was the day after one of Domino's worst episodes of torment.Fresh bandages had wrapped her arms where he'd pushed her into rosebushes, the thorns leaving marks that would take weeks to fade.
I'd watched her through the rearview mirror as I drove her home from the doctor's appointment, struck by how calmly she'd discussed her injuries.
No tears, no complaints — just that eerie acceptance that made something in my chest ache.
"If I died," she says suddenly, her voice carrying that particular tone children use when contemplating something far beyond their years, "I wouldn't cry."
The words hit like physical blows, making my hands tighten involuntarily on the steering wheel.
In the mirror, her unique eyes meet mine with an intensity that feels wrong on such a young face.
"Why do you say that?" I manage to keep my voice carefully neutral, though something cold settles in my stomach.
She shakes her head, silver strands dancing with the movement.
"Crying means something is so emotionally significant in your life that you shed tears because it makes you sad." Her small shoulders lift in a shrug that tries too hard to appear casual. "Why would I possibly cry over dying?"
The clinical way she analyzes it makes my chest tight.
"Dying is a sad thing to many people," I say slowly, watching her reaction in the mirror. "It's not something you can come back from."
"I know that." Her voice carries no fear, only a terrible sort of acceptance that makes me want to pull the car over and shake sense into her. "But when you die, you finally obtain peace."
Traffic moves around us as she continues, each word carrying weight far beyond her years.
"No one to tease you. To hurt you. To mock you before the world that just laughs and joins in."
My knuckles go white on the steering wheel as memories surface - other eyes that held this same dangerous understanding.
Other souls who chose eternal peace over endless torment.
"When you're dead," she says softly, almost dreamily, "all opportunities for them to enjoy your suffering come to a halt because you can no longer suffer by their hands." Her gaze drifts to the window, watching the world blur past. "I can see why many kids just disappear some day, because they finally got their peace."
Those extraordinary eyes find mine again in the mirror, carrying knowledge no child should possess.
"That's a celebration. Not something to be sad and regret."
Ice spreads through my veins as I process her words. Because I've heard this before, haven't I?
These carefully constructed justifications for surrender. These rational explanations for escape.
