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I groan with nausea. “Oh, grow up.”

He shows his teeth. “What was that?”

I spit out the blood coating my tongue. “She owes you nothing,” I say. “Go cry about it on the internet with the rest of the whiny, self-righteous tools.”

“Fuck you!”

“She certainly did,” I say, proudly smirking.

He punches me again, bashing me in the eyes twice. I recoil, curling even more in a fetal position, but I can’t say it wasn’t worth it.

He rights himself, but he’s unable to stop the uncontrollable twitch of his hands. “I’ll show her,” he whispers. “I’ll show her how good I can be… how we can be…”

I look up as he stomps through the room. He throws open the door and pauses, turning back again to barely glance at me.

“Don’t worry…” he says. “In a few days, I’ll make an anonymous tip. Someone will come and discover your rotting corpse.”

“Yeah. Thanks, man…” I murmur.

The door closes behind him.

Silence. The room feels quiet, almost uncomfortably so. I didn’t realize how much I was used to the sound of my breathing or the subtle thumping of my heart. My pulse slows, growing weaker. My lungs burn and I’d give anything to take just one deep breath.

I’m sorry, Anna. You were right about everything.

And I hope, someday, when Charlotte is grown up, she understands I didn’t want to leave her. I didn’t want to abandon her like my family did to me.

In the end, if I had the choice to take it all back, I wouldn’t. I might be dead but there will still be a Charlotte Silva out there in the world.

And that’s pretty cool.

CHAPTER 29

ANNA

Isuck at relationships. I never had the time to get them right.

I had my career, and I was happy. I am happy. I don’t remember a day in my life when I didn’t want to be a Boston cop. That sort of dream takes time — a lot of it. Relationships do, too. I made a choice and I’ve never regretted it.

That doesn’t always mean I don’t wish for a partner occasionally. Some help would come in handy after the Irish mob trashes my fucking house.

I stand in my living room with my arms crossed in frustration. It’s probably not the time for this. No, it’s definitely not the time for this. I should be back at Muffin Top with my kid. I should check in with Sally and find out if they’ve made any progress in finding our mob killer. I shouldn’t be here, but I need the distraction.

I’ve never felt as good as I felt last night — and I’ve had some good times in my life. I’ve had my dreams come true several times over, but one night in Milo’s arms made me feel something brand-spanking-new.

Jake. One night in Jake’s arms.

I abandon the living room, unable to even look at the toppled shelves and broken table legs and knifed couch cushions. I mean, really, guys — the throw pillows? You had to slice them open, too? What did they ever do to you?

I head upstairs, hoping they didn’t think to go through my underwear drawer.

Luckily, it looks like most of the tantrum occurred downstairs. Anything that wasn’t glued down on my nightstand is on the floor and they shattered the mirror over my vanity but, overall, nothing I can’t handle or fix myself.

Partner. Who needs one, anyway?

I kneel to pick up the books by my bed, my knees settling into the carpet.

He was so sweet and kind to me. He put my needs ahead of his and I never once felt rushed or self-conscious. I believed every word, every kiss, every caress of his hand⁠—