Another truth

Cassandra woke from the dream with tears on her face.

The image lingered—her mother, young and beautiful, holding her as a baby. Grace was smiling. She was whispering something, but Cassandra couldn't hear the words. She reached for them, grasping at air, but they slipped through her fingers like water.

She lay still, Dante's arm draped across her waist, his breath warm against her neck. The room was quiet. The morning light was soft, filtering through the curtains. She could feel the baby inside her—a tiny life, growing, real.

She thought about her mother.

Grace had carried her under the same circumstances. Terrified. Hunted. Alone. And still, she fought. Still, she tried to protect her daughter. Still, she loved.

Cassandra pressed her hand to her stomach. "I'll do better," she whispered. "I'll keep you safe."

---

Dante woke to find her already up.

She was sitting by the window, her knees pulled to her chest, staring at the garden below. He crossed the room slowly, his footsteps soft against the floor. He sat beside her, pulling her close.

"You're thinking about her," he said quietly.

She nodded. "I keep dreaming about her. She's trying to tell me something, but I can't hear her."

He kissed her hair. "Maybe you're not supposed to hear it yet."

She leaned into him. "Maybe."

---

Daniel called that afternoon.

His voice was different—steadier, stronger. He wanted to see her. Properly this time. Not in a café. Not with secrets between them. He wanted to tell her everything.

She agreed.

---

They went to his apartment that evening.

It was small—modest, nothing like the mansions she'd grown accustomed to. But it was warm. Lived in. The walls were covered with photographs. Pictures of Grace. Pictures of Cassandra as a baby. Pictures of a life that was stolen.

Daniel sat them down on the sofa. He made tea. His hands were trembling.

"I've been waiting to tell you this for twenty years," he said quietly. "I didn't know how. I didn't know if you'd want to hear it."

"I want to hear it," Cassandra said.

He told her everything.

He was a journalist. He was investigating the conspiracy alongside Grace. They were partners. They were in love. When she got pregnant, they were overjoyed. But they knew the danger. They knew what they were up against.

"We were going to run away," Daniel said. "After she gathered the evidence. After we had enough to expose them. We were going to take you and disappear."

"But something went wrong," Cassandra said.

"Someone betrayed us." Daniel's voice cracked. "We never found out who. But someone told Vincent. Someone gave us up."

He told her about the night Grace died.

He was supposed to meet her. She had the evidence. They were going to run. But he was late. He got there just in time to see Vincent pull the trigger.

"I ran," he whispered. "I ran, and I've been running ever since."

Cassandra stared at him. Her heart ached. She wanted to be angry. She wanted to blame him. But she couldn't.

"You were scared," she said.

"I was a coward."

"You were human."

Cassandra didn't know if she could forgive him.

But she understood. She knew what it was to be scared. To make impossible choices. To carry the weight of survival.

She reached for his hand.

"I don't blame you," she said.

Daniel broke down. He cried—great, heaving sobs that shook his entire body. She pulled him into her arms. She held him.

---

That night, Cassandra told Dante she wanted to name the baby after her mother.

If it was a girl.  Let's give her Grace.

Dante smiled. His eyes were soft. "It's perfect.