SCARLETT
“I’ll go with you,” he said, reaching for my hand before I could walk away.
I looked at him, unsure. “You don’t need to.”
“I do,” Zayden replied quietly, his eyes full of guilt and something else—something close to redemption. “I need to.”
I hesitated. For a moment, I almost pulled away. But instead, I nodded. “Alright then.”
We walked to the car in silence. The baby was asleep in my arms, his tiny body curled against me, unaware of the weight that was crushing my chest. Zayden opened the door for me, and I slid in. He rounded the vehicle and got into the driver’s seat, his knuckles tightening around the steering wheel.
The drive to the correctional facility felt endless. The silence between us wasn’t the comfortable kind. It was thick, dense—like we were both sitting in a
