uilt crushing him, Milo ultimately couldn’t bring himself to take Harper back to the house. 

For the first time, he clearly understood that this was his and Eliana’s home–their sanctuary–and there was absolutely no room for a third person 

Not even Harper. 

After dropping Harper off at Carnegie Hill, Milo drove all the way to Sollo to a tiny French patisserie tucked away on a quiet side street. Eliana was obsessed with their lavender macarons–delicate purple shells that practically melted on your tongue. 

Whenever he’d screwed up before, she’d disappear to this little café, ordering a box of those perfect little cookies. By the time he’d finish work and track her down, he’d find her practically bouncing in her seat with pure joy, closing her eyes as she savored each bite. 

The blissful little sounds she’d make, combined with that radiant smile, always made his chest tighten with something he’d never bothered to name. 

His Eliana really was the easiest person in the world to make happy. 

When had he stopped trying? 

After buying her favorite macarons, Milo stopped at a high–end florist for delicate pink roses–the exact same kind he’d given Harper at Lumière a few days ago. 

He could still see Eliana’s face lighting up when he’d handed her those flowers, and how quickly that joy had crumbled when she’d realized they weren’t really for her. All those moments he’d chosen to ignore now felt like shards of glass cutting through his chest. 

The weather was absolute shit tonight, like the universe was actively working against him. Traffic and construction turned what should have been a forty–minute drive into nearly two hours. 

When he finally got home, Milo didn’t even bother with his shoes before sprinting toward Eliana’s bedroom, his voice rough with barely contained panic. 

“Eliana, I’m so sorry I’m late–had some stuff to handle at work. I know today’s our third anniversary, so I got you those lavender macarons from that place you love…” 

The words died in his throat. 

The bedroom was completely empty, cold air hitting him like a physical blow. The white peonies by the window had wilted and turned brown from neglect, and the wall where their wedding photo used to hang was just blank space. 

The hollow room made something inside his chest cave in completely. He set the gifts on the nightstand with trembling hands, then spotted a medical report lying there. 

Patient: Eliana Hart. Diagnosis: Motor vehicle accident, first trimester miscarriage. 

Milo’s world tilted sideways. His breathing turned ragged, vision blurring as the words sank in. 

In three years of marriage, Eliana had wanted a baby more than anything else in the world. She’d been so desperate to get pregnant that she’d completely overhauled her lifestyle–cutting out caffeine, taking prenatal vitamins religiously, tracking her cycle obsessively. This woman who cried during flu shots had endured monthly fertility treatments without a single complaint. 

Through his haze of shock, Milo suddenly remembered Eliana’s birthday six months ago. He’d already been secretly seeing Harper by then, but family pressure had forced him to spend the day with his wife at St. Patrick’s Cathedral. 

Eliana wasn’t particularly religious, but in her desperation for their baby, she’d lit candle after candle, praying to every saint she could think of. She’d knelt on that hard stone floor for hours until her knees were raw and bleeding, whispering the same prayer over and over. 

Kneeling before the altar, hands clasped so tightly her knuckles were white, she’d suddenly looked up at him with tears in her eyes. 

“Milo, do you think maybe God knows we don’t love each other enough? Is that why He won’t give us a baby?” 

Her question had hit him like a sucker punch. For a terrifying moment, he’d thought she’d discovered his affair with Harper. But when he’d turned to face her, Eliana was already standing up, forcing that bright smile he now realized had been fake for months. 

15:19 

Sorry Captain Milo, Our Love Score Has Hit Zero 

6.2% 

Chapter 11 

“Sorry, that was a weird thing to say. Forget 1 asked.” 

Her voice had been light, but he’d still caught the devastation flickering in her eyes. 

He’d pulled her into his arms then, making promises he’d never intended to keep: 

“Eliana, we’ll have our baby. I swear we will.” 

Milo had even converted the spare room into a nursery–painting the walls a soft yellow, assembling a crib with his own hands, filling it with tiny clothes and stuffed animals. For a brief moment, he’d actually let himself imagine their future child. 

A little girl with Eliana’s gentle spirit and his determination. He’d teach her to fly, spoil her absolutely rotten, give her everything he’d never had growing up. 

Now all of it was destroyed. 

The pain ripping through his chest was unbearable. If he was completely falling apart, he couldn’t even fathom what Eliana had endured 

He gripped the medical report with shaking hands, collapsing into the chair beside her bed. But then his eyes caught the date, and his blood turned to 

ice. 

Five days ago. The same fucking day Harper had crashed her car racing through the Hollywood Hills and needed an emergency blood transfusion. Same hospital. Same rare O–negative blood type. Milo remembered that desperate call from Dr. Martinez, begging him to release some of the blood bank for a pregnant car accident victim. 

At the time, since it was just some random stranger and Harper was his priority, he hadn’t hesitated for even a second to refuse. 

The realization hit him like a freight train: he’d personally sentenced his own child to death. 

His hands started shaking so violently he could barely hold the report. The baby Eliana had prayed for, had sacrificed everything for, had been right there–and he’d chosen Harper instead. 

He’d killed his own fucking kid.