Then I added, slower, firmer, “She jumped because Ryle was in the water. She was saving our son. That’s all.”
Roxanne nodded against my chest, quiet now. I felt the slightest shift in her breathing, like something passing behind her eyes. I ignored it.
Inside, I was already doing the math.
Isabella was not weak. She was terrifyingly strong. She used to slice through water like it belonged to her. She nearly made the national swim team back then. And Ryle? He trained young. Too young. But he was fast, disciplined.
“They didn’t drown,” I said more to myself than her. “They swam away. She doesn’t want to face me yet. That’s why there’s no call.”
Isabella had always been intense about family. About me. About our son. She loved too hard. That kind of woman did not vanish easily.
I lifted Roxanne’s chin gently. “Rest,” I told her. “You’ve been through hell.”
....
For the next two days, I stayed by her side. Made sure she ate. Made sure the room stayed warm. Made sure no reporters got close. I handled everything.
But at night, when the lights dimmed and the hallways went quiet, my mind turned on me.
I kept seeing Isabella’s face on the yacht. Not angry. Not desperate.
Resolved.