Making trouble meant there was still hope. But I had none left.
All I wanted now was divorce and justice for my son.
He froze and then let out a long sigh of relief, as though shedding a great burden.
Pulling me into his arms, he whispered, coaxing, “That’s better. We’ve survived worse days together, haven’t we? Go unpack your things. Later, I’ll explain everything to you.”
His hand rested gently on my head, just as it had countless times in the past.
Then, he turned and ran back outside—to Mariam and her child.
2
Arizona’s POV
I looked around and saw that every trace of my son and me had been erased from the villa.
The puzzle we once pieced together no longer sat on the coffee table. My son’s beloved dinosaur figurines were gone as well.
In their place, Mariam’s expensive trinkets glittered on every surface. A toy car and a few building blocks—belonging to another child—lay scattered by the edge of the carpet.
A metallic taste rose in my throat, and my eyes burned. Forcing down the ache, I made myself walk toward what had once been my bedroom.
The moment I pushed the door open, a low and guttural snarl tore through the air, vibrating in my ears.