Fall For You( Love , marriage and divorce #3)

reets, gnawing at exposed skin and nippi

rompting office workers to clutch styrofoam cups of

orts and a tee shirt, seemingly impervious to the cold

back in a messy bun, revealing puffy eyes and mascara

to the elevator and ascended to the sev

in front o

spacious and luxuriously decorated

an lay on the bed, w

in an Ivy Rose crib, a tiny baby, barely three days old, bundled up

r a while, then reached in to g

sleep. Tears welled up as the woman

d baby and held him close to her; his warmth a s

the sudden movement,

ail of grief and rage, crooned a lullaby

then widened with fear as they la

her heart th

lly, her eyes locked on the baby

heed, coaxing the

ue, ple

on deaf ears as Mon

tion creeping into her voice. "Put the ba

"Is that what you tell yourself to ease the

ed again, her voice thick with tears. "P

d, a flicker of pain crossing her

ed, her ey

, her voice barely a whisper, a trem

escaped Monique's lips, a hollow sou

eyes burning with unshed t

re, started to cry again. Monique, as if su

rushed to her son, cradling him close

d the world a

d held him close to her with a heavy si

d on the mother and son. Her gaze, cold an

eave," Lydia said, fo

who nam

pologetic eyes tol

que's lips. "Doesn't matter, does

wned. "Mo

a coiled viper within. "Shut up!

shoulders slumped. She turned to leav

faint echo as Monique reached the door.

big strides. The ferocious look on Monique's

k stung from pain. Staggering back

ut up!" Monique b

ble to utter a word, just

mood of the new arrivals, a stark contrast to the d

derly woman, pushing a suitcase and

on their fa

woman called

e bouquet and rush

. "Are you okay?" he asked gently, pu

The world she'd known, the future she'd envisioned, lay in ashes around her. And a

olding them hostage,

footsteps were like ice cracks on a frozen

ce cracking with a mix of authority

with her head held high. She walke

n sighed

ou to leave? Don't you n

he thunderous th

at the door with his glare. His knuckles w

her touch magically silencing the baby's cries. As she settled into the rocking ch

voice low but cutting. "You should have expected this storm,

uiltily looked down, then rubbed her face, the

e right to lay her hands o

is well within

Mo

. Now, there are two children involved and a very angry scorn

ydia get a nurse to put a col

,'' Lydia ans

uld go af

his protest strangled by a

matter what, she's still t

*

t Monique's throat, each

drift in a sea of her grief. Bumping into oblivious figures, she barely reg

lips. It was a talisman against the encroaching darkness

ce. The small blue urn, cool against her trembling fingers, bor

he name felt lik

face, the chill seeping into her bones a faint echo of the icy grip of g

a Y junction. The raindrops painted the world in shimmering hues grey, as if nature itself was weeping. Sad

ed into a sturdy Kia Seltos SUV. The impact was forceful, sen

ith an elegant Mercedes-Benz E-Class luxury sedan. The once-elegant car twirled in th

ge of the bridge, held in place by a twisted guardrail

des-Benz were Clinton, his 2

Sahara's classmate's birthday party, but joy turned i

e wreckage by firefighters. Sahara, though her fat

y, Alexander

Alexander lingered like

d the tragic origin – the mo

unwittingly setting the w

a, a newcomer to town, her first day of wor

k long coma. On the other hand, Clinton had sustained some fra

ir lives – a sad picture of loss, survival, a

housand miles away, her own w

diagnosis. The news, whe

ering the fragile

with anguish. "How could they steal his na

lumbarium amplified her pain.

Or a callous disregard for the gapi

und Monique, a huddled figure cradling the urn, her lips whisperin

con of warmth in the chilling silence

ed for her hand, her touch a sile

ered again, her voice laced

ed him Alex,"

n her face, tracing new paths on her pale cheeks. "Clinton and Lydia... they na

e stillness. "No, he wouldn't!" she ex

ain. "He did," she whispered, each word a shard of glass in her voi

now, Mrs. Monique," she admitted, her voice gentle. "But I know yo

white. "I can't," she choked out. "Not like t

mise. "I know it hurts. It's supposed to. But yo

n. As Monique wept, her shoulders shaking with grief and anger, Louise held her close-a silent p

~

r home and led he

m, looking lost, her emo

ng her gently. "It's okay, you can let go of

and numb, relinquished

even if she knew she would get no response. She wa

f clothe

ns, Louise stayed with her as she bathed, chatting about everything am

Monique's thin frame feeling fragil

something warm to e

shook

at least put something on your stomach.

e urn next to her deceased son's p

ahara slipped into the room,

limbing onto the bed and

still found their way to the surface.

, ho

tears mingling as they sought

ching the golden light. In his hand, he held a small blue butterfly, its wings shimmering with an otherworldl

tterfly's shimmering ima

f hope, Louise opened the door and peeped on the mother and daughter pair. Sahara

aniels, asked f

. "She's asleep," she said, "but