Modric’s POV
Mary Ann placed my hand against her cheek.
For several seconds, I forgot how to breathe.
Her skin was warm beneath my palm and damp from tears. She held my wrist lightly, not trapping me there, only guiding me into a touch she had chosen.
I remained completely still.
The conversation about our wedding night still filled the room. Velvera. The ring. The cruelty of returning to the pack house as though nothing had happened.
Mary Ann had every reason to send me away.
Instead, she stood before me and allowed my hand to rest against her face.
“May I wipe your tears?” I asked.
Her eyes searched mine.
“Yes.”
My thumb moved carefully across her cheek.
One tear disappeared beneath it.
Then another.
Mary Ann closed her eyes briefly.
The bond remained mostly guarded, but e
