"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I won't be able to take you with me this time. I have to leave."
I blinked, still trying to process what I'd just heard. What is he saying?
Then, without warning, he leaned in and kissed my cheek. My heart fluttered. His fingers brushed the two familiar marks on my neck.
"Don't worry," he whispered. "When I remember all your memories, I'll come back for you. But just so you know—I still haven't forgiven you."
There was a glint in his eyes, and then he walked away—straight toward my baby's room.
My body froze. I tried to move, to scream, to stop him, but I was paralyzed by the weight of everything. He reached the door. Entered.
That's when my limbs remembered how to move.
I rushed in after him.
He was already holding my babies.
