EDEN
Hayden hasn't moved from the chair. His arms are still wrapped loosely around me, but every muscle in his body has gone rigid. I can feel the shift in his breathing.
Astrid's eyes lock on him. They're glassy, wild, and so full of pain.
"You were never even present," she croaks. "You didn't care about the baby. You didn't care that I was throwing up every morning, that I couldn't keep anything down, that I had to quit modelling because my body was changing and the agency dropped me like I was diseased. You didn't care that I cried myself to sleep wondering if you'd ever look at me the way you look at her."
Hayden's hand tightens on my waist. I feel it. Raw guilt flashes across his face like lightning before he locks it down again.
Astrid sees it too. She lets out a hollow laugh.
