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Chapter 10
That night, we'd just gotten back from a party. As the car rolled to a stop, we spotted Michael standing beneath a streetlamp in the distance, holding—once again—his signature bouquet of white roses.
The moment I stepped out, the sky behind me suddenly erupted with a burst of rainbow-colored fireworks.
Bryson froze.
He had watched Michael's old proposal video more times than he'd ever admit—like some twisted form of self-punishment. He knew that back then, the younger, more naïve version of me had been swept away by those very fireworks. Overwhelmed with emotion, I had said yes to Michael's proposal without a second thought.
So when Bryson saw the flicker of emotion cross my face, something inside him snapped.
Fueled by fear and frustration, he stormed up to Michael, his fists clenched tight. And without warning, he swung.
"You shameless bastard!" he shouted. "All you ever do is lurk around like some lovesick stray dog. I've never seen a more pathetic parasite in my life!"
Michael shoved him back, voice thick with venom. "Oh, spare me. If I'm a parasite, what does that make you? A rebound? A stand-in? Ashlyn and I were together for nine years. If it weren't for her accident—if she hadn't lost the ability to have children—I never would've let Daniela keep the baby."
He turned to me, voice rising.
"She misunderstood. That's all. She thinks I cheated, thinks I stopped loving her. That's why she settled for you, Bryson—because she was hurt and vulnerable. But once I explain everything—once I get her to calm down—she'll call off this engagement and come back to me. Where she belongs."
That was the last straw.
Bryson let out a low, dangerous laugh—then clocked Michael so hard he went crashing to the pavement.
I just stood there, frozen.
When I lost our child in that car crash, it was Bryson who dropped everything—his career, his life—and flew halfway around the world just to sit by my bedside. He didn't leave. Not for a second.
And Michael?
He claimed he was "too busy" with work. But the truth? He'd bought two plane tickets to Prague. While I lay bleeding in a hospital bed, he was out sightseeing with Daniela—drinking, laughing, living it up.
I tried to stop the fight, but neither of them would listen.
That's when a police cruiser pulled up. Two officers stepped out, and one of them clearly recognized Michael. In a matter of minutes, all three of us were being carted off to the nearest hospital for medical checks.
Even though I was worried sick about Bryson's injuries, somehow—I still don't know how—I ended up assigned to Michael's room.
And that's when it hit me.
He'd planned all of this.
Every bit of it. The timing, the fireworks, the scuffle, the ambulance.
All so he could steal a few minutes alone with me.
I couldn't help but laugh. "Seriously? Was all this really necessary?"
Flat on the hospital bed, two fractured ribs and a smug little blush on his face, Michael rasped, "Ashlyn… I miss you. I've missed you so much I'm going out of my mind."
The doctor came in to examine him, and for a moment, my eyes drifted to the tattoo across his chest—a sun, a moon, and a cluster of stars.
I had drawn that.
Back when I found out I was pregnant, I sketched it as a symbol of our future family of three. I showed it to him, so full of hope.
And I still remembered what he said back then.
"The moon? You think someone like you deserves to be the moon?"
Now, with Bryson temporarily called away and the doctor busy, Michael suddenly reached for my hand and held it in a death grip.
"Ashlyn," he whispered, eyes bloodshot, "I want to say this to your face. I'm sorry. For everything. I screwed up—bad. But I'll fix it. I swear. Just give me one more chance. Please."
Before I could speak, his phone rang.
It was Daniela.
Without hesitation, he picked up and put her on speaker.
"Michael!" she screamed, panic in her voice. "Please—help me! Assistant Thompson just stormed into the apartment with some people. They dragged me to a hospital—they're trying to take the baby away! Please, come now!"