The cuts above my breasts were mostly healed, but they’d never go away.

I ran my fingers along them, feeling the difference in the skin.

I grimaced, hating how they looked.

The skin was pinker and there was a glossy sheen where she’d cut me.

I couldn’t let him see me like this.

He’d called twice today and texted me three times.

No matter how many times he tried, I just couldn’t answer the phone.

I wanted to hear his voice.

Being in his arms, him whispering in my ear, would make everything melt away.

But I couldn’t.

I wasn’t ready to see him.

Especially the way I knew we’d end up.

I’d always liked my body, but now, it was just a reminder of that day.

I let myself cry.

I shed tears over Morgan, mostly.

I missed him.

He made me feel safe. I knew he just wanted the best for me.

He hadn’t done anything to hurt me.

No.

That was all Natasha.

The wicked bitch would always be with me every time I looked down at my chest.

Natasha haunted my nightmares. I’d relived the night more times than I cared to remember. Each time, I’d wake up in tears with the sheets soaked.

That was when it was the hardest not to call him. I wanted him to hold me, to chase away the demons, and to save me like he had before.

Days turned into nights and hours turned into weeks as I sat on the couch staring at the television.

When I heard a car door close in my driveway, I shot up, trying to catch a glimpse of the person before they knocked.

Butterflies fluttered inside me until I realized it wasn’t him.

I’d seen a photo of her before. I opened the door, not waiting for her to knock.

“Hello,” I said, my voice a bit shaky.

“Hello, Race. I’m sorry to bother you, dear, but we need to talk.”

I glanced around the yard. “Is he here with you?”

She shook her head and frowned. “No. I’m sorry.”

Instantly, the excitement I’d felt died. “Would you like to come in, Mrs. DeLuca?” I asked, opening the door for her.

She looked down at her feet and back at me. “I can stay out here if it’s easier for you.”

“Please come in. I’d rather stay inside if that’s okay with you,” I said, backing away.

She closed the door, looking around my home. This gave me the opportunity to get a good look at the woman behind the man. She looked the same as her photo, maybe a few years older but just as beautiful.

She wore a pair of washed-out jeans with a black blouse and wedge heels. Her hair was much like his in color, with every hair in place and cut near her shoulders.

“You have a lovely home,” she said as she set her purse down on the coffee table.

“Thank you,” I said as I sat down. “Did Morgan send you?”

She sat down next to me, patting my leg. “No, dear. He has no idea I’m here.”

I sighed as my shoulders sagged. “What can I do for you, Mrs. DeLuca?”

She turned toward me, smoothing her jeans out. “I want to talk to you about my son,” she said, smiling at me. “I hope I’m not being nosy.”

“You are,” I said, laughing. “He told me about you.”

“He’s a little shit.”

“He can be that, but he loves you though,” I told her.

She took a deep breath. “He loves you too, Race.”

I swallowed hard, trying to breathe. “He loves me?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “He’s been a mess since the day he found you.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered and chewed my lip.

“He won’t even come to Sunday dinner anymore. He’s been grouchy, not sleeping well, barely eating, and just surviving without you.”

“Oh,” I mumbled. “I feel horrible.”

She touched my leg, resting her hand on my knee. “So does he. He’s hurting without you, Race.”

“I miss him,” I said. “I just can’t let him see me like this.” I motioned toward my chest.

“Baby girl,” she whispered, tilting her head. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. If a man truly loves you, things like that will never matter.”

“I’m scarred,” I whispered, not trusting my voice.

“Did you ever think about having a baby?” she asked, staring at me with her lips set in a firm line.

“Someday.”

“When you get pregnant and your belly grows big, your entire midsection will stretch. Even after you deliver the baby, the stretch marks will be there forever. Are those scars ugly?”

“Well, no, but those are from something beautiful. They’re like a badge of honor earned from giving birth to another little being.”

She squeezed my knee. “They’re no different than these scars on your skin, my dear. You lived through something and should be proud of yourself for being a survivor.”

I shook my head, glancing down at my chest. “It’s not the same.”

She touched my chin, bringing my eyes to hers. “It is the same. You should be proud that you’re a survivor. It’s only skin. What matters is what’s inside your heart, Race. Do you love him?” she asked, watching me closely.

I swallowed, understanding what she meant. “Yes,” I said, giving her a weak smile. “So much it makes my heart hurt.”

“You need to go to him.”

“I can’t,” I whispered, shaking my head. “Not yet.”

“If you wait too long, you may lose him forever.”

Tears stung my eyes and slid down my cheeks.

“Don’t cry,” she whispered, wrapping her arm around my shoulder and pulling my face to her chest. “He blames himself for what happened to you.”

I sucked in a breath, feeling like someone had kicked me in the gut. “Why?”

The tears fell faster, dropping onto her jeans.

“He didn’t get there in time to save you.”

“But he did. She would’ve killed me,” I said, clutching my throat.

“He thinks he failed you. He assumes that’s why you won’t talk to him.” She sighed, rubbing my back. “Sometimes our head gets in the way of our heart. He’s reached out to you. Now, it’s time for you to talk to him. Let him know that you don’t blame him.”

I cried harder. I’d put him through more heartache. I needed him as much as he needed me.

I wiped the tears away, sitting up. “You’re right, Mrs. DeLuca. I need to see him. He needs to know I love him and I don’t blame him for anything.”

“Let’s get you ready. I’ll take you there. We’ll surprise him.”

“Um, he doesn’t seem like the type to enjoy surprises,” I mumbled, wiping my face.

“There’s no time like the present. Imagine how happy you’ll make him if you show up at his door. Up you go,” she said, pushing me off the couch.

I stood, glancing down at her. “Are you sure about this? Because—”

She nodded, climbing to her feet. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s my son. He’s in love with you, sweet girl,” she said, holding my shoulders. “I want to make him happy.”

“I want him happy too,” I said as she turned me around, using my shoulders to push me toward the hallway.

“Then go get ready. We have a boy to see.”