?<strong>Chapter 870:</strong>


    Still, she would ry those exact words to Michael. With that, any chance of something between Michael and Dulce would disappear entirely.


    Fiona understood it wasn’t fair to Dulce, but as long as she remained unattached, she would continue to hold the most significant ce in his life.


    If Michael found someone new, Lacey’s memory would begin to fade, and Fiona’s connection to him would weaken. She couldn’t bear to lose that.


    “You’re young and talented. You’ll find someone who’s perfect for you,” Fiona said.


    Any further conversation would be filled with empty formalities, and Dulce clearly had no patience for that.


    “I’m leaving now,” she said tly, her voice devoid of warmth.


    “Okay.”


    Fiona watched Dulce walk away, her figure retreating into the distance. With a sigh, she tightened her shawl around her shoulders and turned toward the vi.


    As she approached, she noticed the door slightly ajar, her pulse quickening. Her instincts were right—Michael stood behind it.


    “Michael…


    What did you say to Dulce?”


    Michael’s expression was grim, and Fiona felt a pang of guilt.


    “What did you say to her?” he repeated.


    Fiona hesitated, sensing that Michael wasn’t angry—he was desperate. His need to know everything about Dulce was palpable.


    Her throat felt dry as she swallowed, her lips tightening into a thin line.


    “Michael, I just thanked her. I didn’t say anything else.”


    Michael didn’t respond, the silence hanging heavy between them. Fiona shifted ufortably, unsettled by the despondency that clouded his face.


    “Michael, I came today to discuss something with you.”


    “What is it?”


    “I want to ce my son’s tombstone next to Lacey’s. They were the most important people to me, and this way, they can keep each otherpany.”


    At the mention of Lacey, Michael’s expression darkened further, his features hardening.


    It was as if two opposing forces were violently tearing him apart from the inside.


    After a long pause, Michael waved his hand dismissively, his voice devoid of emotion. “It’s up to you.”


    Fiona’s anxiety spiked at his reaction, and she couldn’t hold back.


    “Michael, what does that mean? Don’t you care about Lacey anymore?”


    Michael unexpectedly turned, locking eyes with Fiona, his gaze hollow and filled with despair.


    Fiona’s breath hitched—she had seen this look before. It was the same haunted expression Michael had worn in the days following Lacey’s death, when he had drifted through life like a lifeless shell.


    Who was he grieving for now?


    The thought terrified Fiona, and she quickly looked away, unable to meet his eyes.


    “What more can I do to show that I care about her? Should I take my own life to join her in death?” Michael asked.


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