Bonds

Chapter 106

-Maya’s POV-

My mind went blank. Everything, the room, the unanswered questions about the break–in, the fear for the twins, all of it just… faded. My body froze in place, stuck in a single moment, unable to react. “What…?” The word escaped my lips in a choked whisper, barely audible even In the silence of the room. He couldn’t be serious. Not now. Not when my world was already crumbling around me, each piece of my carefully constructed life falling away like dust.

He stared back at me, his own eyes filled with a sadness that mirrored the cold dread blooming in my gut. “I have tried, Amaya,” he said, his voice thick with what sounded like genuine pain. “I really have. But it seems like no matter what I do, it will never be enough.” His words were punctuated by a ragged sigh, a sound of defeat that echoed the one building in my own chest.

“Enough for what?” I wanted to ask, the question burning a hole in my throat. But the words wouldn’t come. My brain, usually quick and sharp, felt sluggish, stuck processing the sheer impossibility of what he was saying.

“For you to let him go,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper now. “It’s tiring, Amaya. It’s exhausting, constantly feeling like I’m competing with a ghost but it is worse than that because he is constantly there.” He winced as if the words themselves caused him physical pain.

“I hate that I’m doing this now,” he mumbled, trailing off. He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “Please stop crying,” he pleaded, his voice cracking slightly.

I hadn’t even realized the tears were already streaming down my face, hot and silent tracks etching themselves down my cheeks. Suddenly, the image of my life without him slammed into me, a terrifying vision of empty spaces and echoing silence. Ivan had become a constant, a presence so woven into the fabric of my daily life that I couldn’t imagine it unraveled.

What would I do if he wasn’t there anymore?

How would the twins take it, these little people who had come to love him as their dad, even if he wasn’t their biological father?

The thought sent a fresh wave of panic crashing through me.

“Please,” I found myself saying, the word a weak plea escaping my lips. It was the only thing I could process in the face of this overwhelming emotional storm. “Please don’t do this to me. Please, I’m begging you.”

even as I spoke them, but they were all I had. Didn’t he see how much pain he was causing me? Here I was again, begging a man not to leave. A horrible sense of déjà vu washed over me, the bitter taste of past mistakes flooding

eyes for a moment, his face etched with a pain that mirrored my own. “You keep hurting me, Amaya,” he whispered, his voice low and rough. “I know I’m not perfect, nobody is. But I’ve tried. I really have.”

Pive.

he asked, his voice laced

The answer was as

past this,” he continued, his voice rising slightly in frustration. “I let down my walls for you, Amaya. I believed you, I shut people

reminder of the vulnerability he’d shown me, the trust

his voice dropping back down to a pained whisper. “Why? I thought we could move past it, build something new together. But I see it now. You’re never

torrent of emotions I couldn’t contain. And through the blurry haze of my own misery, I

we, two people who cared about

opening wider with

vulnerability, pinned me in place. His voice, a mere rasp, cut through the oppressive silence.

the spot like a

stammered, the words a pathetic croak against the crushing silence. The truth was a tangled mess, a knot of unresolved feelings and past

gnawing at the edges of my sanity. But the words wouldn’t come. They stuck in my throat, a physical manifestation of the confusion swirling

there moments before. He shook his

our relationship? Panic clawed at my insides, a frantic need to reach out, to grab him before he walked away and took a piece

a moment longer, his hand hovering over the doorknob. Maybe, just maybe, a part of

of my own insecurities. How could I confess the truth, the messy reality of emotions! didn’t fully understand,

turned away. His hand grasped the doorknob, the familiar click echoing in the suffocating

team doesn’t rest until they find whoever is responsible for this. But until we sort things out, and figure out a way to finalize the end of things, I think it’s best if

almost clinical, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside me. But the undercurrent of hurt was unmistakable, a raw wound exposed for me to