Jacob’s POVThe whiskey burns going down, but it doesn’t numb the sound of her voice. Elenore.That woman.The recording loops in my head, every poisonous syllable carving deeper into the raw wound I’ve carried for years. I killed him.She didn’t say it outright, not with those words, but the implication dripped from her tongue like venom. My son. My Jaime.For years, I bore the guilt, wore it like a second skin. Believing he had taken his own life after Samantha’s death.Believing I had failed him as a father, that grief had drowned him, and I hadn’t been strong enough to keep him afloat. And Jude… oh, Jude.That boy lost both his parents before he could even grow into his name.But now? Now I know it wasn’t some tragic twist of fate.It wasn’t Jaime reaching for oblivion. It was murder. Cold, deliberate, and delivered by a woman I let into our lives like family.The rage is a physical thing.It shakes my hand until the glass slips, drops hard onto the table, and shatters into piece
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