Please Come Back, My Love novel Chapter 374

Chapter 374

Sophia’s POV

“Just go,” I whispered, too exhausted to summon any more anger. “Please. Just… go.”

He didn’t leave.

Instead, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone.

“Before I do,” Lucas said, his voice carefully controlled, “you need to see something. You need to understand what triggered the attack.”

My father stepped forward, his entire body coiled like a spring ready to snap. “She doesn’t need to see anything from you.” His voice rose to a roar. “I told you to get OUT! Didn’t you hear me?!”

But Lucas was already walking back toward us, his movements deliberate and unwavering. My father lunged forward, grabbing Lucas’s arm with both hands, trying to physically stop him.

“Don’t you dare come near her!” my father shouted, his grip white–knuckled. “I swear to God, if you take one more step-

Lucas stopped but didn’t pull away. He looked my father directly in the eye, his voice steady. “The security team recovered your wife’s phone from the scene. It was locked. My team just finished breaking into it.” He held up his own phone. “This is what they found inside. What she was watching when the attack started.

My father’s hands were still clamped around Lucas’s arm, shaking with rage and grief. “You had no right—*

“I had every right to find out what nearly killed her,” Lucas said quietly. “And Sophia needs to see this. She needs to understand what we’re dealing with.”

“Let him go, Dad,” I said softly, my voice barely audible.

My father’s head whipped toward me. “Mija-”

“Please.” I took a step forward. “If there’s something that explains what happened to Mom… I need to see it.”

For a long moment, my father didn’t move. Then, slowly, his hands released Lucas’s arm. But he didn’t step back. Instead, he positioned himself right beside me, his body still angled protectively between Lucas and me.

Lucas held out his phone toward me, but my father snatched it from his hand first.

My hands were shaking as I pressed play.

The woman moved across the screen, her silhouette unmistakably similar to mine–same height, same hair, same jacket I’d been wearing recently. She was crossing what looked like Queens Boulevard when a dark sedan came speeding around the corner.

The impact was brutal. The woman’s body crumpled, thrown several feet by the force of the collision. She lay motionless on the wet pavement as the car

sped away, its license plate obscured by the rain and poor lighting.

A news report overlay appeared at the bottom of the screen: [WOMAN KILLED IN QUEENS HIT–AND–RUN, POLICE SEEKING WITNESSES.]

The video ended.

I watched it again. And again.

Each time, the horror grew sharper, more visceral. The woman looked so much like me. The jacket, the hair, even the way she walked–someone had been incredibly careful about the details.