Tears welled again, and this time, I couldn’t hold them back.
The longer I stood in society, the more manners and historical memories emerged. I remembered how to be polite even while screaming inside. I recalled decorum and how to lie to a stranger’s face...all while hiding how badly I was hurting.
And I was hurting.
So, so much.
The introvert part of me swung into full gear, no longer comfortable or at home with people I’d woven my life with.
That was over now.
Done.
Gone.
Just like Galloway.
Just like Conner.
“I’m—I’m sorry.” I wiped at my wet cheeks. “It’s—it’s just...” I sucked in a heavy breath unable to tell him that along with the three lives he’d rescued, one more was lost on the very beach holidaymakers wanted to sunbake and drink cocktails.
Oh, no...our house.
Our things.
My memory card with countless videos and photos. My notebooks. Galloway’s carvings, Coco’s doll, and Pippa's necklaces.
We’d just left them all.
I need them.
They were the only thing I had left of him. Of Connor. Of our private world.
I never thought I’d say such heresy, but I made eye contact with Stefan and begged, “Please...we have to go back.”
His lips parted. “You do? Why? We’ve rescued you. No need to worry. We’ll take care of you and transport you home. Come on, I’ll take you to your daughters. I promise we brought them on board. We didn’t leave them behind. We left no one there, I promise.”
You did.
You left two souls we loved and three more we didn’t know.
“You don’t understand. There’s someone...something that we left behind. I can’t go. Not without them.”
Him.
Stefan stepped over all boundaries as he gathered me in a hug.
I remained still as stone in his embrace.
He murmured, “I think you’d better come with me.”
Chapter Sixty-Three
...............................................
E S T E L L E
......
Enemies can become friends. Friends can become enemies.
And strangers?
They can become both at the same time.
Taken from a P&O Cruise napkin, Pacific Pearl.
...
“AH, HELLO AGAIN.”
My spine braided into a thousand worthless knots.
Again?
I didn’t know this man.
Wait...
Foggy memories swirled into clarity as the captain strode across the bridge.
Last night.
He’d come to visit me where I’d been tended and drugged. He’d said something about taking care of us. To relax. To let him fix whatever it was that needed fixing.
He couldn’t fix this.
He couldn’t bring back the dead.
He’d meant it to be soothing and kind.
But it’d done the opposite.
He was asking me to trust him. To put him in charge of my fate, turning everything I’d endured, everything I’d evolved into nothing because he knew better.
I was just a woman plucked from an island.
He was the hero.
I don’t want a hero.
I want Galloway.
And Conner.
And Pippa and Coco and my island!
“Pleasure to see you again, Miss.” The captain’s black hair was peppered with grey beneath his official hat, and his trim Asian physique spoke of life upon the open seas.
His hand came out (just as Stefan’s had), demanding I touch him against my wishes.
I hid my cringe, shaking quickly before tucking my hands under my arms and crossing tight. “Hello, eh...”
“John Keung.”
“Hello, Captain Keung.”
His button nose wrinkled. “Oh, don’t worry with that. Please, call me John.” His dark eyes brightened. “It’s not every day we welcome a castaway on board.”
What am I doing here?
I didn’t have time for this. I needed my children. I needed them to keep my cresting pain at bay. I felt the tears scratching my insides, harpooning me with agonising memories.
He’s dead, they screamed.
You’re alone, they gloated.
I needed to hold Coco and let Pippa hold me as we both cried for the men we’d loved and lost.
I glanced at Stefan. “I thought...I thought you were taking me to see Coco and Pippa?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, disrupting his stethoscope. “I thought it was best you debriefed with the captain beforehand.” Looking at John, he added, “She, umm—she can’t remember much about last night. Perhaps, a re-jog of her memory is in order, sir?”
Goosebumps broke out beneath the white shift I’d been dressed in. I suddenly worried my underwear-less frame might be visible beneath.
The thought kicked my heart then ran away.
So what?
What was the point in caring?
I stood before strangers barefoot, mostly naked, and stripped of natural beauty and vitality thanks to years on a tropical island. No one cared about me. The sad little washed-up rescued girl. No one cared that I was loved and loved in return. That I was a mother. That I was a widow. That I was grieving for a son I’d lost only months before I lost my husband.
They didn’t need to know.
That was my pain, and my pain was more private than my useless body.