Page 135 of Broken & Bound

“All I have are some sonogram pictures. And a Certificate of Remembrance from the hospital.”

The sentence seemed to knock the air from his lungs. His eyes slowly drifted toward the dresser. The ultrasound photographs still sat there. Framed. Mum had it done for me.

A sob tore free. The only family portrait we’d ever have. He closed his eyes. Just for a second. I wrapped my arms tighter around myself.

“That’s it. That’s all I have of them. Those and the memories I made with the one man you seem to hate.”

My knees finally gave out beneath me. The floor rushed up to meet me. Sebastian was moving before I even realized I’d fallen.

“Bella—”

I kicked wildly at him.

“Don’t touch me. He loved me. Loved me like a soulmate loves another. The way a man loves his woman.”

I struggled to breathe.

“I was his.” The words caught somewhere deep inside me. “And he was mine…and now…”

Everything inside me collapsed. I couldn’t finish. The grief swallowed whatever remained.

“Just leave. If you love me at all, brother, you will walk away and leave me alone.”

My heart ached so much I thought it might finally split apart.

“I just want all of you to leave me alone.”

He reached toward me anyway. I slapped his hand away so hard that the crack echoed through the bedroom.

“Get out!”

The first scream shredded my throat.

“Get out!”

The second left my vision swimming.

“Get out!”

The bedroom door burst open. Mum rushed inside, her eyes darting frantically between us.

“What on earth is going on in here?”

“Bella—” Sebastian tried again.

“I mean it! Get out!” The words ripped themselves from somewhere primal.

“Son… Maybe you should go.”

He didn’t move. Not at first.

“Everyone wants to know how I’m feeling. I don’t want to live without my girls. That’s how I’m feeling. So put it on a fucking billboard so I don’t have to hear the stupid question again.”

My voice dissolved into sobs. I struggled for air. The confession left me in pieces. It only seemed right to honor the rest of my truths.

“I don’t want to wake up every day knowing they’ll never laugh. They’ll never dance with their daddy. They’ll never hear mum sing them a lullaby like she did for us when we were babies—”

“Izzy… Jesus, I’m sorry.”