Chapter 59

• I tried to glance at Agustine—expecting assistance—but it seemed like he was also waiting for my answer. I swallowed hard and tried to calm myself down. I stared at him, not caring whether his mother saw me. The mixture of fear, love, and exhaustion coiled tightly in my chest, threatening to spill over, but I forced the words to remain lodged in my throat. Every second stretched endlessly, filled with the anticipation of judgment and the weight of truth demanding exposure.
• "I . . . " I stopped speaking for a moment and looked away from Agustine. "Don't," I finished. My voice was firm, yet soft, laced with exhaustion, heartbreak, and resolve. It was not a refusal of love but a declaration of priority, a promise that despite all else, our children came first. The silence that followed was oppressive yet liberating, a moment of control reclaimed from the chaos of years past.
• Silence filled the room after that. I wanted to return my gaze to Agustine but I stopped myself. I didn’t understand completely, but I didn’t want to see his reaction after I said that. Not that it would hurt him—I just didn't want to witness the flicker of doubt, the flash of hope or disappointment in his eyes. This was not the time for personal feelings; this was about the children, the stability we owed them, the repair of what had been fractured long before.