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Amelia POVThe moment the plane wheels kissed the Los Angeles runway, my stomach tightened—not from the landing, but from everything this city stirred in me. Luke’s small hand clutched mine as he pressed his face to the window.“Mommy,” he whispered, eyes wide, “is this our new home?”“No, sweetheart,” I murmured, brushing a curl from his forehead. “We’re just here for a little while.”He frowned in that thoughtful, too-mature way only Luke had. “But why did we come? Are we going back soon?”Before I could answer, Ethan spoke from beside us—smooth, calm, and controlled. “We’ll go back,” he said, reaching for Luke’s backpack. “As soon as Daddy finishes some things here.”Luke nodded slowly, trusting him. But my heart sank a little, because Ethan’s tone sounded exactly like it had yesterday—assuring, but withholding something. Something he wasn’t ready to say out loud.Los Angeles greeted us with bright sun and warmth that felt strange after weeks of winter back home. As we stepped out
Amelia POVThe morning light poured softly through the kitchen curtains, casting warm gold streaks across the countertop. I hummed quietly as I buttoned Luke’s shirt, his small laughter bubbling through the air. His joy was infectious — the kind of sound that made everything else fade, even the restless dreams that had haunted me through the night.“Hold still, little monster,” I teased, straightening his collar.He giggled and wriggled away. “Mommy, it’s perfect already!”I smiled, running a hand through his dark curls — so much like Ethan’s, yet something about his eyes always tugged at a part of me I couldn’t name. “There,” I said, smoothing his shirt. “Now go grab your bag before the bus comes.”As he darted off, I turned toward the sound of a low voice drifting from the study. Ethan’s. I wouldn’t have thought much of it if not for the tone — firm, hushed, and clipped in the way he spoke when it was something serious.“Yes, for all three of us,” I heard him say. A pause. “Book the
Amelia POVThe morning after finding the photograph, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The image—my image—haunted me. The man with his arm around me, the words “To my firefly — Always yours, M.”Who was he? Why did my chest ache every time I pictured his face?I sat at the kitchen table, stirring my coffee long after it had gone cold. Luke’s laughter drifted from the backyard, a sound that normally warmed me. But today, it only reminded me of how fragile my world was—how easily it could all crumble if I pulled at the wrong thread.Ethan walked in, his usual calm presence filling the room. He placed a soft kiss on my forehead before sitting across from me. “You look a little lost this morning,” he said, watching me carefully.I forced a smile, tucking the photo—now hidden in my sweater pocket—further from sight. “Just didn’t sleep much,” I murmured.He reached across the table, his hand covering mine. “You’ve been quiet lately. Is it the headaches again?”I hesitated. For a split seco
Amelia POVFive years later. Switzerland.The air here was different—crisp, pure, and untouched by chaos. Every morning, the soft chime of cowbells echoed from the distant hills, and the scent of pine drifted in through the open windows. Life in the Swiss countryside was peaceful—almost too peaceful. Sometimes, it felt like a dream I was afraid to wake up from.I stood by the kitchen counter, pouring warm milk into a mug as Luke’s laughter floated in from the backyard. His voice—bright and full of life—filled the house with something I’d never thought I’d feel again. Joy.“Mom! Look what I made!”He ran in with his tiny boots muddy and his cheeks flushed pink from the cold. In his small hands was a clumsy wreath of wildflowers and twigs. I smiled, kneeling to his level.“It’s beautiful,” I said softly, brushing his golden hair away from his forehead. He had my eyes but Ethan’s smile—a blend of both worlds that felt too perfect to be real.Ethan walked in from the veranda, his tall fra
Amelia POVThe morning sunlight streamed through the curtains, warm and soft against my skin—but inside, I felt frozen. The sound of birds outside, the faint clinking of dishes from the kitchen, even the gentle hum of the air conditioning… everything felt foreign.I sat on the edge of the bed, clutching the silk sheets in my hands, trying to ground myself in something—anything—that felt real. But the more I tried, the more everything blurred.Claire.The name echoed in my head like a haunting lullaby. Ethan said it so convincingly, with such tenderness, that for a moment, I’d wanted to believe him. But every time I whispered it to myself, something in me recoiled—like my mind knew it wasn’t mine.I looked down at my belly, the faint swell of it just beginning to show. My fingers trembled as they brushed over the curve. “Who are you?” I whispered, tears threatening to spill. “Who am I?”I tried to remember the moment it all began—the spark, the heartbeat, the warmth of another person c
Ethan POVI couldn’t sleep that night. Her question—“Who am I pregnant for? Is it you?”—echoed in my skull like a relentless drum. I stared at the ceiling of my room, the shadows cast by the night lamp carving shapes that twisted and shifted with my thoughts. Every second that ticked by made the walls feel smaller, the air heavier.And then, as if the universe enjoyed tormenting me, my father’s words from a few nights ago came flooding back like a poison I’d tried to spit out but swallowed instead.“She’s a gift, Ethan. A gift sent from heaven to fix what you broke.”At the time, I’d laughed bitterly. “Gift? She’s a human being, Dad. A woman who doesn’t even know who she is.”He’d given me that same look he always did when I didn’t follow his carefully calculated plans—half disappointed, half amused that I still had a conscience.“Exactly,” he’d said smoothly. “She’s a blank slate. Which means you get to write the story. Give her a name. Give her a past. Make her yours.”I’d slammed m







