Page 67 of This Life of Mine

And as she moves through the room—calm, capable, unbroken—I make myself a promise.

Whatever it takes to keep him away from her, I’ll do it. But I won’t become the thing she spent her life escaping.

I didn’t sleep much after dropping her off. Instead, I made calls.

I had my attorney speak directly with the prosecutor, lay everything out. Cole’s history, the DUIs that vanished, the bar fights, the accident that should have buried him in a cell years ago.

The crash. The pole. The hospital. Lina eight months pregnant. A baby that didn’t survive.

Cole doesn’t get bail this time.

My attorney made it clear that releasing him would be a mistake. A dangerous one. His pattern wasn’t reckless; it was escalating. One life had already been lost. If he walked free, someone else could be next.

The judge agreed and denied bail.

Good. Let him rot in a cell—sober up with nothing but concrete and consequences.

Even a few years could be enough to put distance between him and Lina. Possibly enough time for her life to move forward without his poison seeping into it.

And if he ever comes near her again…I’ll fucking kill him. No hesitation. He’ll be another piece of shit this world deserves to be rid of.

Fuck me.I act like I’ll be around for that.

Across the room, I turn to see Lina laughing at something Kay says. It’s small. She straightens, shoulders back, even as pain flickers across her face. She’s still standing and that fact alone provides me all the necessary information about her I need, to know how strong she is.

The bell over the door rings again. More customers. More support. More proof that Cole misjudged not only her but everyone around her.

I close my laptop and take another bite of my sweet bread, eyes never leaving the counter.

I’m about to get up, stretch my legs, and check the surroundings again when a voice stops me.

“Hello, young man. I’m sorry to intrude.” A older man hovers near my table, mid-sixties maybe, holding a coffee he’s clearly forgotten about. “You look familiar.”

I glance up, already wary. My jaw tightens. Only a few individuals are aware of my identity.

“You resemble the fellow from that video,” he says, lowering his voice. “The one who saved Lina.”

I don’t answer right away.

It never occurred to me that people might’ve recorded me. I was too focused on making sure she was safe to consider the dozen phones that could’ve been pointed in our direction. One reckless moment. One lapse in discipline.

My hesitation is enough.

His eyes widen. “That was you, wasn’t it?”

A couple of people nearby turn their heads. Phones come out. Not raised yet, but ready. Curious.

“Holy shit,” someone says. “It is him.”

I stand, instinctively putting myself between the counter and the growing attention.

“Just here for coffee,” I say evenly.

“That man was trying to hurt her,” a woman says, stepping closer. “You didn’t hesitate.”

“Yeah,” another adds. “We hear you ran straight at him and took him out.”

Voices layer over one another.