Ric didn’t say much as he gently led Cammy out of the hospital and into one of his upscale restaurants just a few blocks away. The space was quiet, sunlit, and nearly empty—he’d made sure of that. He never left her side, not even for a mont.
Cammy sat across from him at a window seat, her eyes distant, fixed on the world outside. She hadn’t spoken since the hospital—not really. Her silence was loud, thick with sorrow.
She refused to look at the nu, so Ric ordered sothing light for her—a warm bowl of crab and corn soup and a fruit salad. When the food arrived, she didn’t touch it. Her hands remained folded in her lap. She didn’t move.
Minutes passed. The silence deepened.
Without a word, Ric stood up, walked to her side, and sat beside her in the booth. He picked up the spoon, dipped it into the steaming soup, and gently held it in front of her lips.
"Co on, Cammy," he said softly, his voice low, coaxing. "Just one bite. Going hungry isn’t good for the baby."
Cammy blinked, startled, turning toward him with widened eyes. "Ric," she whispered, alarm in her voice. "What are you doing?" She tried to remain composed, her voice trembling. "I can feed myself. Put it down. People are starting to stare."
Ric didn’t budge. Instead, he smirked gently, the faintest spark of mischief flickering in his eyes. "Let them stare. I don’t care. But if it gets you to eat, it’s worth it."
She exhaled sharply, half-annoyed, half-amused, and finally took the spoon from his hand. He smiled in triumph and slid the bowl closer to her.
"Please eat well," he said, his voice dropping to a more tender note. "You’re not just feeding yourself anymore."
That last line cracked through the wall she’d been holding up. She smiled—barely, but it was there. A soft, fleeting curve of the lips that made Ric’s heart squeeze in his chest.
He stayed beside her as she ate in silence. He watched every movent, morizing the way her hands trembled slightly, the way she finally relaxed by the ti the fruit salad was gone. He didn’t say it out loud, but he was proud of her—just for trying.
Later, as they stepped out into the parking lot, Cammy paused beside the car.
"Ric..." she said, stopping him with a soft hand on his arm.
He turned to her.
"Is it okay if..." she hesitated, her voice suddenly small. "If we stay in your penthouse tonight instead of going to my apartnt?"
Ric blinked, surprised for only a second. He smiled. "Of course we can. I’d love that. But... is sothing wrong?"
Cammy lowered her gaze to the pavent, her fingers wringing together in quiet distress.
"I just... I don’t want to be reminded of Dylan tonight," she confessed, her voice cracking on his na. "If I go ho, everything there will scream of him—his laughter, his toys, his scent on the couch. I’m not strong enough to face that yet."
Ric’s chest tightened. He reached out, cupped her cheek gently, and nodded. "I understand," he said. "Then we won’t go there. Not tonight."
He kissed her forehead. "Let’s stop by the mall. We’ll pick up a few clothes, maybe grab sothing sweet. Then we’ll head ho, open wedding gifts, binge sothing ridiculous on Netflix—whatever it takes to give you a little peace."
She smiled, fragile but grateful, and nodded. "That sounds... perfect."
And so they did. They spent the afternoon lost in the mindless comfort of departnt stores and gift bags, laughter slowly returning to Cammy’s lips.
By the ti they were back in the penthouse, the atmosphere had shifted. Light flooded the spacious living room as they unwrapped gifts, one by one. Cammy giggled at the odd ones—a hideous blender, matching pajamas, a cheese board shaped like a heart.
Ric watched her with quiet reverence, as if witnessing sothing sacred. Every laugh, every sparkle in her eye, felt like a miracle.
’I want to see you like this forever, he thought. Smiling. Free. But when you learn the truth... will you still look at the sa way? Will you still let stand beside you?’
He swallowed that thought and smiled back, pretending he wasn’t already bracing for the storm.
The soft glow of the television flickered against the walls as the last episode of the series played on, its sound a distant hum in Ric’s ears.
Cammy’s head had gradually leaned against his shoulder soti during the second episode. Now, she was fast asleep, her breathing even, her lips slightly parted, and a faint crease still etched between her brows—like even in her dreams, she carried the weight of the day.
Ric didn’t move for a while. He simply looked at her—studied the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the softness in her expression that only sleep could bring.
Then, tenderly, he slipped one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her as if she weighed nothing at all. She stirred slightly, murmuring incoherently against his chest, but didn’t wake.
He carried her to his bedroom, the sheets already turned down. Carefully, reverently, he laid her down on his bed and tucked her in.
He changed into a fresh shirt, then climbed into bed beside her, the mattress shifting slightly under his weight. For a mont, he just lay there on his side, watching her—morizing her face in this unguarded, peaceful state.
He leaned in, brushing a kiss gently across her temple.
"I love you, Cammy," he whispered into the quiet darkness. "One day... when I’m ready... I’ll make everything right. I promise you, I’ll correct my wrong."
Then, finally, he allowed himself to sleep—his arm draped protectively around her.
But the peace did not last. The morning ca just as fast as the sunset yesterday.
The shrill ring of Cammy’s phone shattered the silence, jerking both of them awake. Cammy blinked, confused, her hand fumbling for her phone on the nightstand. Ric sat up beside her, instantly alert.
She answered the call with a groggy, "Hello?"
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