Evangeline’s POV:
It hurt.
It really hurt.
Not just the aching, stabbing pain radiating from my body—my feet, my ribs, the raw skin on my wrists—but the deeper, gnawing pain that clawed at my chest and refused to let go. I was sore in every inch of my flesh, like I’d been dropped into fire and scraped across the coals.
And yet, as I looked down and saw their faces, the damp curls clinging to their foreheads, their tiny mouths trembling, their small hands clutching at my dress, it was the first time in what felt like forever that my heart began to beat again.
They weren’t hurt.
They weren’t bleeding.
They weren’t broken.
They were just wet and scared—but alive.
And that alone made me sob. Great, broken, silent sobs that racked through my battered chest as I wrapped my arms around
