Daxter still did not know who the woman lying in his bed truly was. Yet every word that slipped from her lips, every sentence uttered through tears and anger, pierced straight into the pit of his heart as if meant only for him. Like arrows striking directly at his chest, shattering the fortress of pride he once held so firmly.
"Is this your retribution for me?" his heart whispered faintly, drowned in a storm of regret. "Retribution for how cruel I once was to the woman I should have loved with all my heart?"
The pain he felt was not physical, but a torment that tore down to the very depths of his soul. As though every sin of his past, sins he had tried to bury beneath power and busyness, now rose again, demanding accountability. And the most agonizing part of all was the woman's voice, broken in tears, trembling with anger, so much like Veronica, his long-departed wife.
