Ford’s POV
Reading the words even without the context of how it hurts Livia is already a dreadful experience.
But seeing her hands shaking as they grip the paper, watching tears ruin the ink… my throat is so tight I can’t speak.
Livia runs her eyes over the paper again, then she folds it forcefully and looks at me.
“Let’s go back to your—our home.”
She says that with a bit of pain, and I don’t blame her. I just nod and beckon her to follow me. We get back into the car and drive off, and when we get to the house, she just heads into her bedroom and closes the door.
I don’t follow her. I know she needs to process it. I just sit outside her bedroom, listening to the sound of her crying. Wishing I can come in and hold her in my arms and take the pain away.
Soon enough, my own exhaustio
