From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 223

**Dreams Folding Into Broken Time**
**Chapter 223**
**Chapter 134: Made With Love**

Once again, I find myself standing in front of the mirror, the familiar bathroom surrounding me. The same bottle of pills rests on the counter, and the same reflection gazes back at me—a face that feels oddly foreign.

But tonight, my thoughts are different.

In the past, I had been a mere automaton, mindlessly swallowing the pills that were supposed to keep me steady, keep me sane. Tonight, however, I observe my visage with an intensity that borders on fascination. This woman staring back at me has loved too fiercely and lost too frequently.

My thumb hesitates over the child-proof cap. With a soft click, the sound reverberates in the stillness, a tiny noise that feels thunderous within the confines of my mind.

I am acutely aware of what I desire now. I know the path I am about to tread. Yet, mere knowledge does little to quell the yearning that simmers within.

I wanted this. Oh, how desperately I wanted it.

This time, I refuse to take the pills. I am ready to embrace the risk.

The words echo in my mind, morphing into a twisted joke. It’s absurd, reckless, and utterly irresponsible—but the gnawing ache beneath my ribs remains indifferent to reason. Logic has never been able to suffocate desire, and at this moment, desire reigns supreme.

This isn’t about rationality anymore; it’s about an insatiable need. The need to be anchored. To be cherished. To belong to someone so completely that nothing could ever sever that bond.

A child symbolizes permanence. A child signifies proof.

Perhaps it is misguided to yearn for something everlasting in a world that seems hell-bent on dismantling me at every turn. Perhaps it is foolish to dream of motherhood when I have just been evicted from my apartment, living out of a duffel bag in a man’s house that still feels alien to me. Yet, I cannot suppress this longing. I crave this. I desire something that is wholly mine—and his.

My hands tremble as I tilt the bottle, watching the white pills tumble out like tiny orbs. One clinks against the porcelain sink before it plunges into the toilet bowl, followed by another, and then another, until the bottle is empty.

For a fleeting moment, I simply watch them drift. Floating. Spinning. Sinking. So minuscule, yet they encapsulate every moment I’ve fought to maintain control, every time I’ve prioritized caution over desire.

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