No Return After Goodbye

"Got engaged?"

Brandon Adkins's face darkened instantly. His hand trembled as he grabbed my shoulders, but his eyes never once left Alanna Harmon.

"Jocelyn, don't joke around. It's only been three years. You were a widow with a child. Who could you possibly have gotten engaged to? I admit I was wrong. I'll make it up to you however you want."

I met his panicked gaze.

I tried to speak, but the moment I saw Alanna standing behind him, my eyes burned red.

So all those endless days and nights I spent grieving him, he had been traveling the world with another woman.

And me? Even on the verge of giving birth, I didn't matter at all.

I pushed Brandon away again. "Just let me go."

Maybe I used too much force, because I bumped into Alanna behind him.

Brandon's expression turned cold, laced with irritation.

"That's enough, Jocelyn. You don't need to keep pretending. What do you want? A designer bag? A car? A house? I owe you. I'll transfer that riverfront condo into your name. Is that enough? Even if you don't care about me, think about our baby. By now, our child should be three, right?"

The word "baby" made my fingers tremble uncontrollably.

So he knew. He knew that when he faked his death, I was seven months pregnant.

My baby was so small and fragile.

When the doctors had to remove it piece by piece from my body, where was Brandon?

Was he standing on a snow-covered mountain, watching the sunrise with Alanna, making promises? Or was he holding her close beneath the northern lights somewhere at the edge of the world?

My vision blurred as tears spilled over, unstoppable.

"Our baby died the day you staged your death."

Brandon's face went completely dark. He grabbed my wrist, fingers tightening until my bones nearly cracked.

"Jocelyn, I said I was wrong. Isn't that enough? Our child is three. Don't say things like that just to upset me. Where’s the kid?"

The harder I tried to pull free, the tighter he squeezed.

By the time my wrist turned bruised and purple, Alanna suddenly collapsed in front of me, eyes red with tears. "Brandon, blame me. If I hadn't insisted on having you travel the world with me, this wouldn't have happened."

Only then did Brandon let go, though his gaze stayed locked on me.

"Jocelyn, learn something from Alanna. Be more understanding."

A stiff laugh slipped out of me.

Because Alanna was terminally ill, I was supposed to give up my jewelry, my room, and even my husband?

He faked his death and spent three years traveling the world with her.

And now, he wanted me to be understanding?

I still remember the day I went into labor. Alanna was the one who told me.

"Brandon died on his way to bring you some soup."

One phone call was all it took to throw me into panic. Even with my body swollen from pregnancy, I rushed out without thinking.

I saw Brandon lying there, his body torn apart, unrecognizable.

Grief, guilt, and self-blame crashed over me all at once. I threw up, and before I could steady myself, blood was already spreading beneath me.

In those endless days and nights after losing both my husband and my child, I thought about ending everything more times than I could count.

And now, he was telling me his death was fake?

So all my tears meant nothing?

Did my baby die for nothing, too?