Page 138 of This Life of Mine

And if that’s true...he may be in far greater danger than he’s aware of.

Chapter forty-two

Lina

The bell above the door chimes right before early Sunday closing, and something causes goosebumps to appear on my arms.

As soon as I notice him, my stomach drops. It’s David Allister.

For a moment, I look at him—disbelief giving way to something hotter, venomous. The fucking audacity. Of all the nerve.

“Lina,” he says, like we’re old acquaintances. “May I speak with you privately?”

Every instinct in me screamsno. But I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch.

“Fine,” I say flatly.

I round the corner of the counter and head to the front door. I step outside the shop, the evening air cool against my skin, and he follows. The door shuts behind us, the noise of the bakery muffled, leaving the two of us standing on the sidewalk.

He clears his throat. “I’m here about Cole.”

Cole?

“He’s made some mistakes,” David continues carefully. “But we’re trying to get him help. Rehab. Treatment,” he pauses, gauging my reaction. “His fiancée had their baby. A daughter.”

My jaw tightens.

“I think becoming a father could redirect his energy,” he says. “Give him purpose. I’m asking if you’d consider dropping the charges. Let us handle this privately.”

Unbelievable.

I let out a disbelieving laugh. “You want me to let him walk because you think he can be rehabilitated? You think a child will change him?”

His expression stiffens. “I think it’s a start.”

“The fact that you’re standing here asking me this tells me you still don’t get it,” I snap.

I gesture to my arms. The bruises. The scrapes. Yellow and blue blooming against my skin like evidence that refuses to fade.

“He hurt me,” I say. “Again. And this time, it’s not your responsibility to clean it up.”

Mr. Allister exhales, frustrated. “Lina, we can make this easier for everyone—“

“No,” I cut in. “You’ve made things easy for him his entire life. And look where that got us.” I again show him my wrists.

His eyes flick over my injuries, then away.

“You know,” I continue, my voice steady but lethal, “he should’ve gone to jail after the accident. The one that put me in the hospital. The one where I lostourbaby. Your grandchild.”

His jaw clenches.

“I didn’t press charges then,” I say. “I let it go. I protected him, and you protected him.”

I step closer, refusing to shrink. “I won’t do that again.”

“This isn’t about punishment,” he insists. “It’s about family.”

“No,” I reply coldly. “This is about accountability. Something your son has never faced because you raised him to believe consequences were optional.”