บท 13: The Past Resurfaces

The hum of my phone on the nightstand pulled me from restless sleep. My dreams had been a tangled web of memories and emotions, all of them centered on Dante. I groaned, turning over to check the time—it was barely 6:00 AM.

The name on the screen made me sit upright. Claire.

"Claire? What's wrong?" I asked, my voice still hoarse from sleep.

"I'm sorry to call so early," she began, her voice tense, "but there's… an issue at the office. You should come in."

"What kind of issue?"

"It's Dante," she said hesitantly. "He's there, and he's refusing to leave."

I closed my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. Of course, he was.

"Fine," I said with a resigned sigh. "I'll be there in an hour."

---

The drive to the office was quick, the city streets still waking up as the early morning light filtered through the buildings. When I arrived, I found Claire pacing in the lobby.

"Where is he?" I asked.

"In your office," she said. "I told him to wait, but…"

I nodded, already anticipating the confrontation.

As I entered my office, I found Dante standing by the window, his back to me. He turned when he heard the door, his expression unreadable.

"This is getting out of hand, Dante," I said, crossing my arms. "You can't keep showing up like this."

"I had to see you," he said simply, as though that justified everything.

"I told you I needed space," I said, keeping my voice steady. "This isn't giving me space."

He stepped closer, his gaze locking onto mine. "You've had two years of space, Elizabeth. And I've had two years of regret. How much longer are we going to keep pretending that we don't matter to each other?"

His words hit me like a punch to the gut, but I refused to let him see it. "We don't matter, Dante. Not anymore."

"Liar," he said softly, his voice a dangerous mix of anger and vulnerability.

"Why are you here?" I asked, changing the subject. "What do you want from me?"

"I want the truth," he said, his tone firm. "I want to know why you left without telling me you were pregnant."

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. How did he know?

His eyes darkened, his jaw tightening. "I found out from the doctor's report. The one you left behind."

I clenched my fists, willing myself to stay calm. "You don't get to ask about that," I said coldly. "You lost the right to know when you chose her over me."

His expression softened, guilt flashing across his face. "Elizabeth, I didn't know—"

"Stop," I interrupted, my voice shaking. "Don't you dare try to justify it? I begged you to stay, Dante. I needed you, and you walked away."

He took another step closer, his voice low and filled with pain. "And it's the biggest mistake of my life. I was a coward, Elizabeth. I was so caught up in my guilt and confusion that I didn't see what I was doing to you."

His confession only made my anger flare. "Do you think apologizing now will change anything? Do you think it will bring back my child?"

The silence that followed was deafening. For the first time, Dante seemed at a loss for words.

"I didn't come here to hurt you," he said finally. "I just… I need to understand."

"There's nothing to understand," I said, my voice flat. "It's too late, Dante. You can't fix this."

His shoulders sagged, a rare vulnerability showing through his usually confident demeanor. "I know I can't fix the past, but I want to try to make up for it. For everything."

I laughed bitterly. "You think you can just waltz back into my life and make everything okay? That's not how this works, Dante."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small envelope, placing it on my desk.

"What's this?" I asked, eyeing it suspiciously.

"Open it," he said.

I hesitated before picking it up and sliding the letter out. As I read the words, my blood ran cold.

It was a death certificate—for my child.

"What the hell is this?" I demanded, my voice trembling with rage.

"It's the truth," he said quietly. "Your child didn't die naturally, Elizabeth. Someone made sure of it."

The room seemed to tilt as his words sank in. "What are you talking about?"

He stepped closer, his eyes filled with an intensity that made my stomach churn. "I've been investigating ever since I found out about the pregnancy. The miscarriage wasn't an accident. Someone tampered with your medication."

I staggered back, my mind racing. "Who… who would do something like that?"

"I don't know yet," he admitted. "But I swear to you, I'll find out."

I sank into my chair, my hands shaking. The room felt too small, too suffocating.

"Why are you telling me this now?" I whispered.

"Because you deserve to know," he said. "And because I'm not going to stop until I find out who's responsible."

For the first time in years, I felt a flicker of something I couldn't name. It wasn't forgiveness, but it wasn't anger, either.

"You should leave," I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper.

He hesitated, his eyes searching mine for something I couldn't give him.

"Elizabeth," he began, but I shook my head.

"Just go, Dante."

He nodded reluctantly and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

---

That night, I sat on my balcony with the journal he'd given me, my thoughts a whirlwind of emotions.

For the first time, I wrote without tearing the page out:

Dear Dante,

You say you've changed. You say you want to make things right. But how can I trust you when all you've ever done is hurt me?

Still, I can't ignore what you told me today. If what you're saying is true, then someone took my child from me. Someone destroyed the only piece of happiness I had left.

I don't know if I'll ever forgive you, but I do know one thing—I want the truth.

I closed the journal, my resolve hardening. If Dante was telling the truth, then whoever was responsible for my pain was still out there.

And I wasn't going to rest until I found them.