Died Alone, My Spirit Watches

e woman. Your cho

idn't hesitate. He pointed at his s

voice steady. "She's fragile. Adria

pregnant with our first child, but he pushed

Adrianne," were hi

in that cold,

nvisibly, watching as my husband igno

m for saving Flora. He didn't know those calls were from my

the morgue and ripped the sheet off my b

ying your chi

risis manager who thought he could fix e

won't brin

, he ha

pte

e Cummi

ribs, a frantic bird desperate for escape. Flora Compton, Bradford' s high school sweetheart, was sobbing beside me, her mascara-streak

t and panicked authority, his voice booming as he began to negotiate with the armed men. A flicker o

orward. "We' ll release one of the women," he snarled, pointing the blade of his hunt

t of my frantic pulse. Bradford' s gaze swept over us, lingering on Flora' s shaking form, then br

ce decisive, cutting through th

e edges. My carefully constructed composure threatened to crack. I looked at him, searching for something

nstinctively went to my lower abdomen. The dull ache that had been constant

st me, a stranger staring through a pane of glass. My stomach churned, and a wave of nausea washed over me.

e criminal, not me. "She's tough enough to handle the pressure. Flora will fall apart.

as the reason he always left me to carry the heaviest burdens, to fix the messes, to

me, his hand a cold, imper

He was giving me away. My husband was handing me over to these men like

onight, after the gala, in the quiet intimacy of our home. But now, it was a silent, desperate scream. The inte

ce laced with a confusion that was rapidly turning into disbel

itched in his jaw. There was no hesitation, no flicker of

rust you to make it through this. Flora... she needs me. She always has." He paused, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "And don't worry. I won't hold it against

rudge he' d always held over my past relationships before him. They implied I was used goods, expendable, while Flora, his "first lo

o explain. "Bradford, that's not... t

into the waiting arms of the scarred criminal. The blade of the knife, co

cted at me in months. He murmured reassurances, his hand gently touching her arm as he led her away, pa

his voice a gravelly threat. He shoved me roughly towards a dark corr

d, his face inches from mine, his

d back. My last shred of hope, that tiny, foolish flame, flickered and died. The realization crashed over me lik

inconvenient collateral. A bitter, humorless laugh bubbled in my throat, quickly stifled by a gasp of pain. My body slumped, my s

re, a more sinister plot than a mere robbery. But all I could feel was the icy grip of betrayal, and the agonizing throb in my womb. I offered a si