Agnes
I rushed toward Elijah, my heart hammering in my chest. Even in the dim light of the entryway, his black eye was startlingly obvious—a dark, angry bruise circling the socket. He was slumped against the door, looking exhausted, but he straightened when he saw me, grimacing slightly from the effort.
In his arms, I noticed he was clutching a bouquet of red roses, a box of chocolates, a bottle of wine, and what looked like a card. Despite his obvious pain, he held them out to me like a schoolboy with his first valentine.
“Happy Mother’s Day,” he said softly. “I know it’s technically over, but…”
“Goddess, Elijah, what happened to your eye?” I interrupted, ignoring the gifts and stepping closer to examine his face. The bruise was already beginning to yellow at the edges—a s
