His Madness Took a Life, But Not My Love

Lovell's POV

“Lovell! What do you think you’re doing?!”

Jaylee rushed over, yanking me aside as she knelt down to check on Zach. She called his name over and over, her voice shaking with panic.

When he didn’t respond, she stood up, frantically inspecting the cioppino he’d just eaten. Then she turned to me, her eyes red with fury, and roared, “Miss Porter! If you don’t want us here, just say it, we’ll leave! How could you do this to a child? He’s only three! You could’ve killed him!”

While I was still confused, she went on with her accusation. “He’s been allergic to seafood since he was born! I never let him touch the stuff! How cruel do you have to be to feed him cioppino?!”

I stood there, stunned, trying to process the wave of accusations crashing down on me. I could only manage to deny it weakly.

“I didn’t… I didn’t give it to him…”

But Jaylee didn’t give me a chance to explain. She cut me off with another sharp accusation.

“You didn’t? What, are you saying, a three-year-old ordered it himself? Do you really think a toddler knows how to order food?!”

Without looking at me, Horace stormed forward, scooped the convulsing child into his arms, and turned toward the door.

“Enough. We’re taking him to the hospital.”

He didn’t need to say it. I could feel it in the way he moved, the way his back was turned to me.

He blamed me.

Five years together, and I could read him without a word.

As he passed me, I reached out and grabbed his wrist, forcing myself to speak.

“Horace, it wasn’t me.”

He paused, but with tight brows, he said, “Let go. I need to get him to the hospital.”

Before I could say anything else, Jaylee shoved me hard.

Caught off guard, I fell back and landed hard against the edge of the coffee table. Pain exploded through my lower back, making me cry out.

But Horace, who used to panic at the slightest wrinkle in my brow, didn’t even flinch. He didn’t turn around or stop.

His entire focus was on the child in his arms.

I watched their figures disappear through the doorway as my phone buzzed on the floor beside me.

It was a text from Grandpa.

[The car’s almost there. Pack up and come out.]

I wiped my tears with the back of my hand, gritted my teeth through the pain, and dragged myself up.

I didn’t take much, just my ID and my bank card.

Then I walked out the door without looking back.

Once I got into the car Grandpa sent, I took out my phone and typed a single message to Horace.

[Let’s break up.]