Isla's POV
The door slams open before I can process Dante's message.
"You're not doing this."
Lyra stands in my hospital doorway, seven years old and fierce. Her silver-blonde hair—so much like mine—frames a face twisted with fear and anger.
"Lyra, sweetie, you should be with Grandmother—"
"I heard everything." Her voice shakes. "You're going to bond with him again. The man who made you cry every single night. The man who let that witch hurt us."
My heart cracks. She remembers. Of course she remembers. Children always remember more than we think.
"It's to save Kieran—"
"I don't care about Kieran!" The words explode from her. "He called you mean! He said you weren't his mommy! And now you're going to hurt yourself again to save him?"
I reach for her but she backs away.
"You promised," Lyra whispers. "After we left, you promised you'd never let Daddy hurt you again. You promised we were done with him."
The accusation in her eyes destroys me.
"Baby, listen—"
