His Love Was a Ferry That Led Me to the Abyss

Summary

Each winter after my amputation, I could not bear the cold. Stewart would pause his empire to take me to a private island. On nights when phantom pain left me shaking, he knelt by the bed for hours, kissing the scar on my stump until I calmed. Our circle called him devoted, a saint for staying with a broken woman. I believed losing my leg had at least bound me to love. Three years ago, his childhood friend cut my rope on an Alpine peak. Stewart wept all night, then destroyed her family by morning. After that, no one in New York dared cross me.

On our fifth island winter, a storm woke me to an empty bed. On crutches, I reached a half-open door down the hall. Windy was there, the woman who should have been begging on the streets. Stewart held her close, voice thick with care. Do not cry, baby. It is only thunder. She pouted, hitting his chest. You spend every day with that pathetic cripple. I am sick of hiding. He kissed her tears away. Sweetheart, just a little longer. I will stay with you tonight.