He didn't sleep that night. Not even for a second. Just lay there in the heavy dark, waiting for the sun to rise like it might bring her back.
But morning came cold and hollow.
By six-thirty, Stefan was showered and dressed in black slacks and a charcoal sweater—he'd picked up before leaving— simple but clean. His face in the mirror looked unfamiliar—haunted. He hadn't shaved. His eyes were bloodshot, jaw tight. But he didn't care.
He wasn't going for a reunion.
He was going to face the woman who'd orchestrated the beginning of this collapse.
His mother. Elizabeth Winters.
The woman who had smiled and said she loved him while helping replace his bride with another. The woman who had knowingly allowed Ruby to carry the burden, thinking she was protecting him. The same woman who had welcomed Ivy back like a prodigal daughter while the real woman who had held Stefan's heart walked out the door with tears in her eyes and a life growing inside her.
