The sound of the waves surrounded us, the beach a quiet sanctuary under the pale glow of the moon. Troy and Ziva were playing in the sand nearby, their yips and tumbles filling the night air with a faint echo of innocence.
Taylor turned toward me, his expression softening as he stepped closer. “Mirabella,” he murmured, his voice low, “you’ve carried so much for so long. You don’t have to do this alone anymore.”
His arms moved toward me, steady and open, offering the comfort I didn’t realize I desperately needed.
But as his hands neared, an image surged in my mind like a lightning strike.
Taylor. Natasha. His hand firmly on her neck in my old apartment.
My body froze, the memory vivid and jarring.
“Stop,” I said sharply, stepping back.
Taylor’s arms dropped, his brow furrowing. “What
