The first few nights at her parents’ house were the hardest. The mansion’s silence had been replaced by the faint creak of familiar walls, but the ache in Zara’s chest stayed the same. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Regan’s face — confused, hurt, angry. His voice still echoed in her head, the last word he’d said before she left: “Zara, please.”But she couldn’t go back. Not yet. Maybe not ever.Each night followed the same rhythm — she’d put the twins to bed, scroll through her phone until her thumb hurt, stare at Regan’s contact, and then lock the screen before temptation won. Sometimes she’d draft a message — “Are you okay?” or “Have you eaten?” — but she never pressed send. Instead, she’d bury her face in her pillow and cry quietly, trying not to wake her babies.Her mother noticed, of course. Mothers always do. So did Kemi, who slept over most nights to keep her company. They didn’t talk much about Regan; they didn’t have to. His absence filled the space around them.“Zar
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