บททั้งหมดของ Loving my fathers best friend : บทที่ 121 - บทที่ 130

BellaThe evening felt heavier than usual. Hours had passed since the confrontation in the nursery, since Alex had shattered the crib and the last pieces of my denial along with it.My eyes were swollen from crying, my throat raw, and my body felt completely drained. I sat on the couch, wrapped in a blanket Alex had brought me, staring at nothing. The reality of losing Sophia had finally sunk in, and it hurt in a way I couldn’t describe a deep, aching emptiness that no illusion could fill anymore.Alex had been by my side the whole afternoon, holding me when the waves of grief came, whispering that I wasn’t alone. I still felt disconnected from everything, especially from the baby girl still fighting in the NICU. Amie. Her name felt distant, like she belonged to someone else’s story.The doorbell rang softly. Alex stood up and went to answer it. A moment later, my parents walked in Mom with red eyes and Dad looking older than I remembered. They had come as soon as Alex called them.W

BellaI woke up the next morning with a heavy head and swollen eyes. The nightmare from last night still lingered at the edges of my mind the crashing car, Avery's still body, Amie’s distant cries I couldn’t reach. But for the first time in weeks, I didn’t immediately sink back into the fog of denial or overwhelming guilt. I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of everything… and breathing through it.Alex was already up. I could hear him moving quietly in the kitchen downstairs. I stayed in bed a little longer, pressing my hand to my flat stomach out of habit. The absence hit me again, sharp but not as blinding as before. Avery wasn’t there. She would never be there. That truth still hurt like hell, but today it didn’t completely paralyze me.I got up slowly and went to the nursery.The broken crib was gone. Alex must have cleaned it up while I slept. The room looked different now one crib, one changing table, one set of neatly folded clothes. I stood in the doo

BellaThe weeks that followed our first therapy session were a strange mixture of progress and pain. Healing wasn’t linear. It was messy, unpredictable, and exhausting. Some mornings I woke up feeling almost normal I could make breakfast without crying, laugh at Emily’s jokes, and even look at the nursery without my chest tightening too much. Other days, the grief hit like a sudden storm, pulling me under until I couldn’t breathe.Today was one of the hard days.I stood in the nursery, trying to organize Amie’s incoming clothes. The single crib stared back at me, a constant reminder of what was missing. As I folded a tiny onesie, the guilt slammed into me again. Avery should have had matching clothes. She should have been here too. My hands started shaking. Then the voices came faint cries in my head“Avery I’m sorry…” I whispered, pressing my palms to my ears.The cries grew louder. I sank to the floor, rocking back and forth as tears streamed down my face. “I failed you. I failed y

AlexThe weeks that followed our breakthrough in therapy had a fragile kind of rhythm I never thought we’d find again. Bella was healing slowly, painfully, but undeniably. She still had hard days where the guilt pulled her under or the hallucinations whispered in her ear, but she was fighting them now. She went to therapy faithfully, sometimes alone, sometimes with me. She visited Amie in the NICU more often, and each time she held our daughter skin-to-skin, I watched something soften in her eyes. The love was growing, even through the fear.At home, we threw ourselves into preparing for Amie’s arrival like it was both a celebration and a sacred duty. We finished setting up the nursery together one crib with soft neutral bedding, Emily’s colorful drawings taped proudly on the wall, a rocking chair by the window where Bella could feed her at night. Bella folded and refolded tiny clothes with trembling hands, sometimes crying quietly as she packed away the last duplicate items that had

AlexA week had passed since I told Bella about the investigation. The tension between us had eased after our talk, but it hadn’t disappeared completely. She supported my decision she told me so clearly but she wanted no active part in it unless absolutely necessary. “I need to focus on healing and on Amie,” she had said quietly one night. “I can’t live in the past every day.” I respected that, even if part of me wished she was by my side in this too. We were learning to carry our burdens differently while still holding each other up.Life at home had taken on a careful rhythm. Bella continued her therapy sessions and spent more time at the NICU with Amie. I watched her bond with our daughter grow stronger each visit, and it gave me hope. Emily was excited about becoming a big sister, drawing pictures and asking endless questions. We were preparing the house together setting up the nursery, buying last-minute supplies, trying to create a sense of normalcy. But in the quiet moments, es