Ameelah went straight to the room of Amiel and checked on her son. She saw him sleeping soundly already. The young boy was curled up comfortably beneath his thick white blanket, his breathing slow and rhythmic in the quiet luxury of his bedroom.
She smiled and kissed his forehead lightly, not wanting to awaken him. Her lips lingered against his warm skin for a tender second, her maternal instincts instantly soothing a tiny fraction of the fierce, jagged tension currently tearing through her heart.
Darmiel followed her inside Amiel’s room and put his hands over her shoulders. His touch was warm, and his long fingers gently squeezing her skin in a silent plea for forgiveness and understanding.
She glanced at him but did not say a word. Her eyes were cool and sharp, refusing to give him
