I still loved you.
“You must not.” It was a demand. “You must fulfill your duty. To me. To Jarek.”
Jarek.
Sickness clawed through my consciousness.
I began to weep. Guttural cries that came and came.
“Please, Papa.”
Pain.
Intense.
Unending.
“He will be held accountable for his actions.”
Yet my father sat there and looked at me with the evidence of what my tormentor had done. This was the man he’d intended to be my husband, and he sat there and looked at me as if it were my fault?
At the realization, my broken spirit split apart.
“I will die if you have him killed.”
“Blasphemy.”
I didn’t know if in that moment it was true. It must have been because I was sure my father saw the truth of it in my eyes.
Frantically, I grappled to take hold of his hand. “I need one thing from you, Papa, please, grant me one thing. I need him to live.”
“Aster Rose,” he’d warned, torment in his voice.
My hand had grasped at his. “I’ll do anything, Papa. Just promise me you’ll spare him. Promise me, and I’ll do what you demand.”
He’d wavered, but in it was a glimmer of the humanity I prayed he possessed. His lips had thinned then he’d said, “Okay, mia vita. I will spare him and his family, as long as he never shows his face here again.”
* * *
Two months later, you came. You stood in our spot after what you’d caused.
I was so angry.
So angry.
Depression had come, dark, eternal rage its partner.
So lost. So sad. So empty.
“The baby.” It was the first thing you’d said.
The impact of it nearly knocked me to my knees.
Tears fell and fell, but I held on to the anger.
“I got rid of it.” I’d tried to spit it like venomous truth, but halfway up, the lie had stuck in my throat.
You’d swayed to the side.