walked in gently and closed the door behind me.
The click of the lock sounded louder than it should have.
Too loud.
Too final.
Like the world outside had just disappeared.
Like I was sealing myself inside a cage.
My fingers were shaking.
My legs felt weak.
I slid down slowly until my back hit the door.
Then I pulled myself down across it and sat on the cold floor.
My hand flew to my mouth.
I held on tight, trying to stop the sound inside my throat.
But my breath was hot.
Too hot.
Burning.
Like fire in my chest.
My eyes felt dizzy.
The room tilted.
The walls moved.
The world was spinning.
"Why now…" I muttered.
My voice sounded small.
Broken.
Not like me.
I held onto my chest like something inside was tearing me apart.
My heart wouldn't slow down.
It kept racing.
Fast.
Hard.
Painful.
Then it came.
The tears.
They rushed out before I could stop them.
Hot and endless.
My shoulders shook.
My body bent forward.
I cried and cried until I couldn't even hear myself anymore.
No sound.
Just air leaving my lungs.
Just shaking.
Just pain.
My throat hurt.
My nose burned.
My eyes stung.
Still, the tears kept falling.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Until they wouldn't drip anymore.
Until there was nothing left.
Until my face felt dry and tight.
I wrapped my arms around myself.
Trying to hold myself together.
Trying not to fall apart completely.
Then slowly… my hand moved down.
To my belly.
My palm rested there.
Soft.
Warm.
Small.
"My poor baby…" I whispered.
My voice cracked again.
He didn't get to meet his father.
Mark always wanted this baby.
Always.
He used to talk about it all the time.
Late at night.
When the house was quiet.
When it was just us.
He would place his hand on my stomach and smile like a child.
"Imagine," he would say, "a little one running around here. Calling me dad."
His eyes would light up.
So bright.
So happy.
I could still see that smile.
So clear.
Like he was right in front of me.
But now—
Now there was nothing.
Only silence.
Only emptiness.
And this baby…
It came at the very worst time.
My fingers curled slightly against my stomach.
I wasn't ready.
I wasn't even trying to keep it.
Not without Mark.
Not while his family hates me.
Not while I have a mission.
A baby would be such a distraction.
So fragile.
So small.
How could I protect a child when I couldn't even protect my husband?
He was meant to help me fight them.
Those people.
Those monsters.
Those who had hurt me the most.
Mark promised me.
He promised.
"We'll get back at all of them," he said once, holding my hands tight.
"One by one."
He always sounded so sure.
So strong.
Like nothing could touch us.
Like we were a team.
Like I wasn't alone.
But now…
Now I was sitting on the cold floor.
Talking to myself.
Crying like a fool.
Alone.
So damn alone.
My chest tightened again.
His death isn't a coincidence.
The thought came suddenly.
Clear.
Sharp.
Heavy.
I knew it.
Deep down, I always knew it.
Mark didn't just die.
Something was wrong.
Something didn't make sense.
I remembered that night so well.
Every second.
Every sound.
Every breath.
My phone rang.
His name flashed on the screen.
"Mark love"
I smiled when I saw it.
I always smiled.
"Hey," I said.
But his voice…
It was strange.
Low.
Tense.
Like he was hiding something.
"Alexa… I have something important to tell you."
Important.
He never sounded like that.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Just wait for me. I'll be home soon."
But he didn't sound sure.
There was noise behind him.
Wind.
Cars.
Maybe footsteps.
"Mark, are you okay?"
Silence.
Then—
"I love you."
My heart dropped.
He never said it like that.
Not randomly.
Not like goodbye.
The call ended.
Just like that.
I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
He couldn't make it home.
They said there was an accident.
Just an accident.
That's what they told me.
Just an accident.
But something felt wrong.
So wrong.
Then the next call came.
Unknown number.
Late.
Too late.
My hands started shaking again just remembering.
"Hello?"
"Ma'am… this is the FBI."
My blood ran cold.
My mouth went dry.
"We need you to come down and identify a body."
A body.
Not Mark.
Not your husband.
Not his name.
Just—
A body.
I stopped breathing.
Right there on the floor of my bedroom, the memory crashing into me like a wave.
My hand pressed harder against my belly.
My nails digging into my skin.
My heart pounding so loud I could hear it in my ears.
This wasn't fate.
This wasn't bad luck.
This wasn't God.
Someone took him from me.
Someone made that call happen.
Someone wanted Mark dead.
And if they killed him—
My eyes slowly lifted.
My tears stopped.
My breathing slowed.
Cold.
Very cold.
If they killed him…
Then who's next?