Mary Ann’s POV
For several seconds, I could only stare at him.
Modric stood outside my room with our wedding portrait held in both hands. The frame looked too large for the narrow corridor, forcing him to angle it slightly against his body. His dark coat was open, his hair untidy as though he had run his fingers through it too many times, and his expression was more uncertain than I had ever seen it.
Then I remembered the tears on my face.
I quickly wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand and straightened.
“What do you want?”
His gaze remained on me.
I hated that he had heard me crying. I hated that he had found me at the exact moment when the strength I showed everyone else had finally broken. Most of all, I hated the concern that appeared in his eyes before he forced it away.
“I
