>>Third Person POV (Aurelia)
Some hearts are born in fire,
shaped in silence,
tempered by days no one saw
and wounds no one mended.
And yet, two broken souls,
dragging the rust of all they've carried,
can meet in the hush between tragedies—
and find, not rescue,
but rest.
Not perfection,
but peace.
The baby was crying again. The sound of her wailing echoing in the room.
Hael shifted her gently in his arms, his broad hands awkward and tender as he tried for the third time to bounce her in a slow rhythm, the way Amber did. But the tiny girl writhed against his chest, her soft cries rising in pitch, becoming desperate, almost angry. Zola's small fists clenched tight, her face scrunched, her breath caught in hiccuping sobs that pierced through Hael's chest like tiny, perfect knives.
"Shhh, hey now… I'm right here, why are you crying," he whispered, voice low, strained. "It's okay, I got you. I got you."
He didn't, though.
