Death's Echo

Chapter 2: Her Black Heart

The truth struck her like a bolt of lightning. No matter how much she despised Rio—because make no mistake, she hated her wife. Love and hate were intertwined, two sides of the same coin, the yin and the yang, creating a balance. But the balance had long since tipped. There was no love left to counter the hate anymore; only the hate remained, festering and raw.

Yet, despite that overwhelming bitterness, Agatha would never wish this on her. Using a dead child to torment a parent? It was too cruel. It was a line that not even the evil, Agatha Harkness would cross.

Nicholas continued to jump, his excitement growing, completely unaware of the weight of the moment that hung in the air.

"Mama! Come in!" Nicholas urged again, his voice full of pure, untainted innocence.

Rio's gaze flickered back to him, her face a mixture of fear and heartbreak, and another tear slipped down her cheek.

"Nic—" she tried to speak, but her voice, usually so sharp and commanding, laced with barbed sarcasm and deadly intent, now wavered. It trembled, fragile, before catching in her throat. For a moment, the great Rio Vidal—looked powerless.

"Come inside, Mama!" Nicholas begged again, his voice filled with that unwavering hope only a child could hold onto.

"I—can't—" Rio's voice trembled, the words escaping her lips in a broken whisper as she gazed down at him, her hands quaking.

Nicholas furrowed his brows in confusion, his wide, innocent eyes searching her face.

"Why? Didn't you miss me?" Nicholas asked, the simplicity of his question cutting through the air like a knife.

Agatha's heart clenched painfully as she watched Rio's reaction. She saw it all—the way Rio's breath hitched, the way her body trembled under the weight of those innocent words. It was as if each syllable Nicholas spoke sliced through Rio like a blade, the unbearable truth she'd fought to bury for so long now rising to the surface.

Didn't you miss me?

So innocent, so pure, and yet so devastating. Agatha could see the anguish in Rio's eyes, the struggle to hold herself together as the question tore her open, exposing wounds that had never healed.

Rio's lips parted, and for a moment, no sound came out. Agatha's own breath caught in her throat, feeling the weight of the moment, knowing exactly what it meant for Rio to hear those words, knowing how hard it was to even breathe in this moment.

"I do," Rio whispered, her voice barely more than a fragile breath. Her eyes shone with unshed tears as she gazed down at the boy she could never have again. "More than anything."

Agatha flinched at the rawness of Rio's admission, feeling it in her own chest. She had never seen Rio like this—never seen her so vulnerable, so completely undone. It was like watching someone on the edge of a cliff, knowing they couldn't be saved.

Nicholas tilted his head, still confused, his innocent eyes wide as he stared up at his mother. He didn't understand the weight of her words, didn't grasp the depth of the pain she was drowning in. He was too young, too pure, and it broke Agatha's heart all over again to see how his simple, unknowing questions were pulling Rio further into a despair she couldn't escape.

Agatha stood frozen, her muscles stiff, her throat tight as she watched Rio unravel before her. Every fiber of her being wanted to move, to reach out, to say something—anything—to pull Rio back from the edge of the grief that threatened to consume them both. But she couldn't. She was trapped, paralyzed by the sheer weight of it all, the helplessness gnawing at her like a dark, unrelenting force.