Becoming Mrs DeLuca novel Chapter 92

**Through Shadows We Painted Our Forever by Erynn Vel Coren 92**

**ADRIAN**

Before I could even utter a word of refusal, Stefan was already lost in tears, his small frame shaking with the weight of his emotions.

“No, Daddy, please,” he wailed, clutching his iPad to his chest with a desperation that made it seem as though it might vanish into thin air at any moment. “I want to call her again.”

His little shoulders quivered, and the damp strands of hair clung to his forehead, glistening with the remnants of his tears. The way his lower lip trembled made him appear even younger than his years, a heartbreaking reminder of his innocence.

“Stefan,” I said softly, kneeling down to meet his gaze, hoping to convey some semblance of comfort. “You already spoke to Mommy today.”

“But I want to talk again! She said I could call anytime,” he pleaded, hastily wiping his tear-streaked face with his sleeve. “I didn’t get to tell her about Milo’s new trick. Daddy, please.”

He gripped the iPad with both hands, his arms locked as if he feared I might snatch it away. God, this was becoming a routine. He had done this yesterday and the day before, desperately reaching out to her, and each time, she answered for him and Sofia. Yet, the moment I tried to interject, the screen blacked out, leaving me in silence.

Every single time. After leaving her countless messages and calls, she had blocked my number, a bitter reminder of the chasm that had formed between us.

“She’s still on her trip,” I reminded him gently, hoping to ease his disappointment.

“When is she coming back?” he asked, his voice laced with urgency, as if he had been waiting all morning to voice this question. “You said she’d be home already.”

I let out a slow breath, my chest tightening with the weight of my own uncertainty. “I didn’t say that. I said she would come home when she’s ready.”

“But it’s been so long, Daddy! I can’t sleep without her reading to me. And Sofia cries every night because she wants her. I tried to read to her, but I don’t know the voices. And Milo keeps waiting at the door too—”

His voice cracked, the floodgates opening once more as he succumbed to full-blown sobs.

Sofia, who had been standing quietly behind him, clutching her beloved stuffed rabbit, began to cry as well, her small whimpers echoing her brother’s distress. Her tears were softer, almost a question in themselves, as if she couldn’t comprehend why they couldn’t simply have their mother back.

I swallowed hard, my fingers curling into fists at my sides. My jaw tightened, a mixture of frustration and helplessness coursing through me.

This was the part of parenthood that nobody ever prepared you for. They speak of the burdens of leadership, the weight of fatherhood, the heaviness of sin, but this?

Watching your children break apart before you due to your own failures?

That was an entirely different kind of agony.

“Come here,” I murmured, pulling Stefan close to me. He clung to me as if I were his lifeline, burying his tear-stained face against my shoulder. Sofia, sensing the need for comfort, crawled into my lap, still sobbing as she held her rabbit tightly against her chest.

“It’s okay,” I whispered, my voice barely above a murmur. “Mommy loves you. She talks to you every day, right?”

Stefan nodded against my shoulder, the weight of his tears soaking through my shirt.

“She’ll come home,” I assured him, though the words felt heavy and metallic on my tongue. “She will.”

“When?” he hiccupped, his voice small and fragile.

I didn’t respond, because the truth was, I didn’t know.

And I couldn’t bear to tell him that, not without shattering his heart even further.

Sofia pressed her forehead against my chest, her voice a tiny whisper laced with sorrow. “Daddy,” she croaked, “I want Mommy.”

Those four words cut through me like a knife, ripping open wounds I thought had scabbed over.

I held them both a little tighter, trying to shield them from the storm brewing inside me, when a soft knock on the doorframe broke the fragile moment.

I looked up to see Gemma standing there, a whirlwind of energy and concern.

Her arms were laden with stacked containers, foil-wrapped dishes, and a bag slung over her shoulder, giving the impression that she had rushed over without a second thought. Her hair was tied back in a haphazard bun, and her coat hung loosely, half-buttoned.

Her eyes flickered from me to the kids, softening with empathy.

“Oh,” she breathed, her voice laced with concern. “They’re still upset?”

Still?

As if there had been a moment in the last two weeks when they hadn’t been.

“Come in,” I said quietly, gesturing for her to enter.

She stepped inside, setting the food down on the dining table with a practiced ease. When she turned back to face me, her gaze fell on the blood-stained bandage loosely wrapped around my forearm.

She froze, her expression shifting from concern to alarm.

“Adrian…”

Her voice dropped sharply, the weight of her worry palpable. “How did you—”

“It’s nothing,” I interrupted, brushing it off. “Just a cut.”

“A cut?” she echoed, skepticism lacing her tone. But for now, she let it go.

Gemma moved closer, gently placing her hand on Sofia’s head, brushing the little girl’s curls with a tenderness that seemed to soothe them both. “Chello, piccolina,” she whispered softly. Sofia, recognizing the familiar warmth, reached for her, her small hands grasping at Gemma’s coat.

In an instant, Gemma lifted her into her arms, cradling her with ease.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” she murmured into Sofia’s hair. “Mommy loves you. She’ll call again later.”

Stefan, still sniffling, lifted his head, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

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