KISS'S POV
The mansion looked exactly the same.
Tall iron gates. Silent guards. Dim golden lights lining the long driveway. Everything screamed home—yet none of it belonged to me anymore.
I parked far away.
I didn't want the sound of an engine announcing my weakness.
The night was quiet. Too quiet. My heart beat so loudly I was sure the walls could hear it.
I moved like a shadow.
One step. Pause. Another step.
No guards. No voices. Just memories clinging to every corner.
I slipped in through the side entrance—one Adrian once showed me when we were still… us.
My breath shook.
"Just see them," I whispered to myself.
"Just see them and leave."
But my feet already knew the way.
Up the stairs.
Left corridor.
Second door.
The nursery.
I stopped before touching the handle.
My hand trembled.
"What if they don't remember me?" I breathed.
"What if they hate me?"
The door creaked softly as I pushed it open.
Moonlight spilled inside.
And there they were.
My children.
Sleeping.
Alive.
Perfect.
I covered my mouth instantly to stop the sound that wanted to tear out of my chest.
"Oh God…" I whispered, tears flooding my eyes. "You're real."
I stepped closer, knees weak.
My daughter slept curled on her side, tiny fingers wrapped around the edge of her blanket. Her lashes were long. Her lips slightly parted.
She looked exactly like him.
My son lay on his back, one arm thrown over his head, brows faintly furrowed like he was already fighting the world in his dreams.
"You've grown," I sobbed silently. "So much…"
I dropped to my knees beside the bed.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, voice breaking.
"I'm so sorry mommy wasn't here."
My fingers hovered over my daughter.
I froze.
What if touching her woke her?
What if she cried?
What if she asked questions I couldn't answer?
My hand shook in the air for long seconds.
"Kiss… breathe," I told myself.
Slowly—so slowly—I brushed my fingertip against her tiny hand.
Warm.
Alive.
Real.
A sob escaped me.
"My princess," I whispered. "You're so beautiful."
Tears dripped onto the floor.
"I promise you," I murmured fiercely, leaning closer, "mommy will come back. I don't know how yet, but I will. I swear on my life."
I turned to my son.
My chest tightened.
He looked… serious. Even in sleep.
I reached for him without thinking.
The moment my fingers touched his cheek, he stirred.
I froze.
He shifted again.
Then slowly—too slowly—his eyes fluttered open.
Dark.
Sharp.
Exactly like Adrian's.
He stared straight at me.
Time stopped.
I couldn't breathe.
He studied my face like he recognized something, small brows pulling together.
"Mom," he muttered sleepily.
The world shattered.
I slapped my hand over my mouth, tears streaming uncontrollably.
"Yes," I whispered, voice trembling. "Yes, my love… mommy's here."
He blinked once more, yawned, then turned his face into the pillow.
Just like that—he fell asleep again.
As if he hadn't just destroyed me.
I collapsed against the bed, sobbing silently.
"You remember me," I cried. "You remember…"
I kissed the air above his head, afraid to touch him again.
"I'll come back," I whispered to both of them.
"I promise. I'll come back for you."
I stood up quickly.
If I stayed one second longer, I wouldn't leave at all.
I turned toward the door—
And my body froze.
ADRIAN'S POV
Something was wrong.
The feeling clawed at my chest, sharp and relentless.
I had tried to sleep. Failed.
Tried working. Failed.
Tried ignoring it.
Failed.
"She's here," a voice whispered in my head.
I scoffed at myself.
"You're losing it," I muttered.
But my feet were already moving.
Down the hallway.
Toward the nursery.
"I just need to see them," I told myself.
"Just for a moment."
The door was slightly open.
That stopped me.
"I always close it," I murmured.
My pulse spiked.
I pushed the door wider—
And stopped dead.
Someone was standing inside.
A woman.
Slim. Familiar.
Her back to me.
Long hair cascading down her shoulders.
My breath hitched painfully.
"No," I whispered. "That's not—"
She turned.
And my world collapsed.
"Kiss."
Her name tore from my throat like a wound reopening.
She stiffened.
Slowly—like she was afraid—I watched her lift her face.
Our eyes met.
The years.
The pain.
The loss.
All of it crashed between us.
"Adrian…" she whispered.
My legs gave out.
I grabbed the doorframe to steady myself.
"You're here," I said hoarsely. "I'm not dreaming."
Tears shimmered in her eyes.
"I didn't mean for you to see me," she said quietly.
My gaze dropped to the beds.
To my children.
Then back to her.
"You touched them," I accused softly.
She nodded.
"I couldn't leave without seeing them."
My chest burned.
"You shouldn't be here," I said, voice shaking. "You vanished. You disappeared. You—"
"I almost died!" she snapped, tears spilling. "They almost died!"
Silence slammed into the room.
My jaw clenched.
"You left," I said painfully.
"You didn't even say goodbye."
Her voice broke.
"They took me," she whispered.
"I didn't choose to leave you."
I took a step toward her.
Then another.
"So why are you standing here now?" I demanded. "Why come back only to disappear again?"
She swallowed hard.
"Because if I stay," she whispered, "I won't be strong enough to leave again."
My heart cracked.
I looked at my children.
"They need you,I need you, " I said quietly.
She shook her head.
"Not yet."
"Why?" I demanded.
She lifted her chin, eyes blazing with pain and resolve.
"Because the world that tried to kill us is still breathing," she said.
"And until it stops—I won't let it touch them again."
Thunder rumbled outside.
I stepped closer, voice low and broken.
"And me?" I asked. "What about me?"
Her lips trembled.
"You're the hardest part," she admitted softly.
For a moment—just one—I thought she might reach for me.
Instead, she stepped back.
"I love you," she whispered.
"And that's why I have to leave."
She turned toward the window.
"Kiss—" I reached out.
She looked back one last time.
"Take care of them," she said gently.
"And don't stop loving them… for me."
Then she was gone.
The room felt colder instantly.
I sank to my knees beside the beds, pulling my children close.
"She was here," I whispered, tears finally falling.
"She came back."
My daughter stirred.
My son mumbled in his sleep.
And for the first time in years, hope hurt worse than pain.ll