I whispered the apology, and then tiny, warm fingers gently brushed the tears from my cheeks.
The child's voice was impossibly soft, filled with longing and reluctance to let go. I reached for those little fingers, desperate to hold on, but the figure was already fading.
No!
My heart split open. I lunged forward, grasping at nothing, clawing against the emptiness—
"Baby!!"
I jolted awake, gasping. A dull ache throbbed low in my abdomen. Before I could gather my thoughts, a gentle male voice cut through the dark.
"Nightmare?"
Ivan sat on the edge of my bed, his face full of concern.
"What are you doing here?"
He gave a helpless smile. "This is our home. Why wouldn't I be here? Stella, you—"
A child's shrill scream cut him off.
The bedroom door slammed open, and a five-year-old boy barreled in like a cannonball. "Daddy!!"
It was Cooper Acevedo—Glenda's son. The boy had complained that not having a father made him a target for bullies, and Ivan hadn't hesitated. He let Cooper call him "Daddy" and raised the child as his own.
Cooper latched onto Ivan from behind. Ivan asked, "Didn't we agree you'd wait outside like a good boy?"