The Heart That Wouldn’t Remember
MARY’S POV:
“Don’t.” I held up my hand, stopping him. “Don’t pretend like this is about love. If you loved me, you wouldn’t have done any of the things you did.”
He was quiet for a long moment. Then, slowly, he shook his head.
“I know I’ve made mistakes,” he said. “I know I’ve hurt you. But that doesn’t change the way I feel about you. That doesn’t change the fact that you’re the mother of my child. That you’re my wife.”
I opened my mouth to respond, to tell him that words meant nothing, that promises meant nothing, that he had said all of this before and broken every single one. But before I could speak, he moved.
His hand came up to my face, cupping my cheek, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw. The touch was gentle, familiar, the same way he had touched me a thousand times before. My skin remembered it. My body remembered
I hated that.
“You want this too,” he murmured, leaning closer. His breath was warm against my skin. “Don’t you? Our daughter is so adorable. Haven’t you always wanted another baby? I know you have. We talked about it. We picked out names. Don’t deny it.”
I felt his other hand find my waist, his fingers pressing into my skin. I tried to pull away, but his grip was too strong, his body too close, his presence suffocating.
“Stop,” I said. “Alistair, stop.”
“Don’t fight me. You don’t really want me to stop.”

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