Ashes Of His Regret

ESMERALDA'S POVThe ceiling tiles are water-stained. Sixteen of them. I've counted three times now, each number blurring through the haze of morphine and something darker, the kind of emptiness that no drug can touch.My hand drifts to my abdomen, expecting the swell that's been there for sixteen weeks. Expecting the flutter of life that had just started to feel real. My fingers meet only flatness, surgical tape, and the thick wadding of bandages beneath the thin hospital gown.Gone.The word sits in my chest like a stone."Mrs. Voss?" A nurse appears beside my bed, her face professionally sympathetic. "How are you feeling?"How am I feeling? The question is absurd. My baby is dead. My husband isn't here. I'm alone in a sterile room that smells like antiseptic and failure."Where's my husband?" My voice comes out cracked, barely recognizable.The nurse's eyes flicker with something…pity?before she adjusts my IV line. "I'm sure he'll be here soon. You just rest now. The surgery went we

ESMERALDA'S POVThe penthouse feels too quiet.A week has passed since the hospital. Seven days of recovering in our bedroom while Julian sleeps in his office. Seven days of cramping and bleeding and the hollowness that comes with losing something you didn't know you needed until it was gone.I stand at the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the city below. New York in November gray skies, people rushing, everyone with somewhere to be. Everyone except me."Esme?" Julian's voice from the doorway makes me flinch. "My mother's here."Of course she is. Celeste has been circling like a vulture all week, calling with "concern," sending care packages I haven't opened.I turn to find her already entering the room, immaculate in Chanel, her smile tight and practiced."Darling." She air-kisses near my cheeks, careful not to actually touch me. "How are you feeling?""I'm fine." The lie comes automatically now."Good, good." She settles onto the cream sofa like she owns it. Maybe she does, she c

ESMERALDA’S POVLila’s apartment feels too small for the mess inside my head.The moment Lila closes the door behind us, my body gives up.I don’t even make it to the couch. My bag slips from my shoulder and lands somewhere near the wall as I sink to the floor, my back pressed against the door like I’m holding something out. Or maybe holding myself together.The silence is thick here. No footsteps in another room. No phone buzzing on a counter. No reminder that I’m unwanted in my own home.I press my forehead to my knees and breathe. In. Out. Slow. Careful.Leaving didn’t feel dramatic. It felt necessary. Like staying one more night would have hollowed me out completely.I’ve been here since last night, curled up on her couch with a blanket I don’t remember pulling over myself. The city hums outside her windows, distant and uncaring, while I replay the same questions over and over again.How did we get here?When did my marriage turn into something so fragile?“You’re doing that thing

JULIAN'S POVThe weekend in the Hamptons was exactly what I needed. Vivienne's beach house, her children running along the shore, dinners without tension or tears. Alexander and Sophia call me "Uncle Julian" now, their small hands reaching for mine when we walk.It felt like family. Real family. Not the complicated, grief-soaked mess that my marriage became.Now I'm back in the city, the divorce papers finally ready. Richard assured me they're airtight Esmeralda will get her fifty thousand, her personal items, and that's it. Clean, simple, done.I just need her to sign.I text her: *Need to see you. Can you come to the apartment tonight? 7 PM. Important.*She responds within seconds: *I'll be there.*The eagerness in that quick response makes something in my chest twist. Guilt, maybe. Or just impatience to have this finished.---She arrives exactly at seven, and I'm struck by how different she looks. Thinner, paler, wearing clothes that hang off her frame. Her hair isn't styled. No m

ESMERALDA'S POV My heart is still hammering against my ribs when Lila reaches me. "Esme! Oh my god, are you okay?" She grabs my shoulders, checking me over. "You almost—that car almost—" "I'm fine." My voice sounds far away, like it's coming from underwater. "I'm fine." But I'm not fine. I'm shaking so hard my teeth chatter. My knees give out and Lila catches me before I hit the pavement. "Okay, we're going home. Right now." She half-carries me to her car, buckles me in like a child. "Jesus Christ, Esme. You weren't even looking. You just walked right into traffic." I stare at my hands. They're trembling. Careful where you're going, Pumpkin. That voice. Deep, amused, somehow familiar. And that name—Pumpkin. Why did he call me that? "Who was that?" I whisper. "Who was who?" "The man in the car. The one who almost hit me." Lila glances at me while driving. "I don't know. Some rich asshole in an expensive car who drives too fast. Why?" "He called me Pumpkin." "What?" "When