The Image of You: A soulmates standalone romance by Melanie Moreland

Author:Melanie Moreland [Moreland, Melanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Moreland Books Inc
Published: 2022-11-30T18:30:00+00:00

“I tried to save her.”

“I know, Nightingale.”

“I talked to her at lunch, and she was fine. When I got there for dinner, I knocked, but she didn’t answer. I used my key and found her on the kitchen floor. I called the ambulance and started CPR. She wouldn’t wake up. I tried,” she repeated, her voice plaintive. “But she stopped breathing, and she was gone.”

I drew back, concerned, looking down at her. I had seen her strong and capable. Happy and laughing. Weary and tired. I had also seen the effect her mother and Ronald had on her, destroying anything positive and making her feel less than she was, but right now, she sounded so lost and vulnerable—almost broken.

“I’m sorry you found her like that, but I’m sure she knew you were there with her.”

“I hope so.” She exhaled a shaky breath. “I miss her already.”

I looked over at the fresh grave, blinking away the moisture that gathered in my eyes. “So do I.”

She tilted up her head. “She loved you, Adam.”

“I loved her.” I traced a finger down her cheek. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for either of you.”

“You’re here now.”

“Too late to say goodbye.”

“Elena hated goodbyes. She always said ‘Until next time.’”

I lifted my hand and blew a kiss in the direction of the sky. “Until next time, you minx.” A tear slid down my cheek. Another followed in its path.

Ally cupped my cheek. “Let it out,” she whispered.

I pulled her to me, burying my face into her neck as the emotion crested. I mourned for Elena and for the future she would never see. I had wanted her to see us married. To hold our first child in her arms and know, beyond any doubt, her girl was safe and cared for and would be for the rest of her life. I had wanted to hear more of her stories and tease her so she’d laugh. Share another hundred different scotches with her. Let her take my money and give it to whatever charity she wanted. Send her flowers every week for another twenty years.

Kiss her wrinkled cheek and hear her call me boy.

I had only known her a short time, but she meant as much to me as Ally did. She had become my family, and her death hit me hard.

I felt Ally’s shoulders shaking again, and she held me fiercely.

Together, we mourned the loss of someone we loved.

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