Her sobs—raw, broken, and utterly hopeless—dripped into Charles's ears like slow poison, seeping into his bones, choking his breath.
He felt like an executioner.
A heartless butcher.
Stripping her life away one shred at a time.
How could he forget?
They were bound together. Entwined.
There was no separating them now.
And then he felt it.
As his hand pressed gently against her swollen belly, a kick.
Sharp. Insistent.
The tiny life inside her surged forward, as if sensing the chaos outside—fighting, pleading to stay, to live.
His heart sank.
"Charles," Janet whispered, tilting her face toward him. "She's moving. Can you feel her?"
Her voice trembled with fragile hope.
He did.
He felt it.
The thump of life beneath his palm.
For a fleeting moment, he hesitated.
A father's heart stirred.
But the spell shattered the moment he looked into Janet's unseeing eyes—those lifeless orbs shining with blind devotion—and he pulled his hand away. Quietly. Without a word.
