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***Grey's POV***

Gone.

I wish I felt empty. I don't. I'm so full of anger, heart wrenching grief and most of all guilt. The weight of each emotion is a heavy burden.

I didn't see this coming. I can't fathom a world where our love doesn't exist. That's no place I want to occupy. It doesn't sound like living at all. It feels like death.

I slowly pull my hand from my chest. It has been clutching my husband's rings to my heart for so long, the indentations might as well be tattoos. The rings feel like hot coals in my hand. Their presence are a reminder of his absence.

I can't tell you how long it has been. A moment without my Mak feels like an eternity. I have never wanted him for anything more than himself. That hasn't changed.

I feel guilty because I implanted that picture of our future family in his beautiful mind. Without writing in the possibility of impossibility, I painted a world where our children would fill our hearts and our home with unfathomable love. Instead, that dream ripped my love from my arms completely.

The tears don't have time to stain my cheeks. Each time one falls, another quickly chases behind it to take it's place. I have never felt more broken. I have been privileged to have no experience with heartbreak. Now that I am living it, I can see how one could easily slip into it's abyss.

My father's voice speaks around me. I have no inclination to listen nor comprehend what he says. Nothing matters when everything is gone.

If you had asked me a year ago if I could fathom this scenario, I would call you an idiot. Now, it is me that feels less than par.

"Greyson, I know that you are shocked, torn and ultimately heart broken." My father speaks to me. I curve my attention to him, wondering where this is going.

"Yeah." The word slips out. It's a question, an admission and a statement.

"But, we can't find your husband without your help. I need you to get your head in the game, son." Dad looks at me expectantly.

"It's not a fucking game." My words are harsh. This is my life, my love, my everything. It's not a game.

"Oh, but it is. Cat and mouse, you're up Tom. Time to bring Jerry home." Mark chuckles at his stupid analogy to the cartoon. If these were different circumstances, I myself may have laughed. As it stands, I find nothing remotely funny.

"The investigators need your expertise on all things Mak. We all know a pretty good bit about your husband. However, you are the most qualified to answer some of the more personal questions." Dad explains the reasoning behind me having to speak with the agents.

Shrugging, I agree silently. I walk slowly toward the make shift command center, my eyes lock with Sebastian's. He gives me a soft smile; I can see the sympathy pouring through his blue eyes.

I attempt to send Seb comfort. Whether my attempt is futile or not, I really don't know. I can't see myself stressing over it, if I am being honest.

"Does Makhil have any family in the area?" The first detective approaches me with a question that any one of my friends could have answered. A groan passes from my lips. This is inconsequential.

"No." My answer is gritted through my teeth. If you listen carefully enough, you could possibly hear the enamel chipping away as my teeth grind frantically against one another.

"Stop grinding your teeth, boy. They are trying to help." Dad's voice leaves no room for my attitude. I run my hand over my face to clear my muscles of any recollection pertaining to my current state of mind.

"I apologize. Thank you for taking time from your busy schedules to track down my runaway groom." The reminder is all I need to feel the facade slip. Immediately my temporary sanity escapes. My eyes fill with tears. I turn away from the crowd of onlookers to blink away the emotions that threaten to spill once again from my eyes.

Dad's arm wraps around my shoulder. He pulls me into his embrace, comforting me silently. I bury my face into his shoulder. My own shoulders fall as if weighed down by the turmoil that is akin to the turbulent sea waters crashing in on themselves during a devastating storm.

I can't help the sob that escapes from my throat. My airways are blocked by the thick emotions that crawl from the depths of my empty heart, spilling over into my physical form. I can't imagine sustaining any semblance of a valuable existence when inside I feel as though everything feels like nothing in the absence of the love of my life.

After a few moments of collecting myself, I feel semi-confident that I can answer at least a few questions. I nod to the inquisitor who is staring at me expectantly. He smiles knowingly before approaching me with caution.

The first question from his lips is one that I don't mind answering, so I do.

"Would Mak seek shelter with anyone that is not in this room? I understand how difficult this must be for you. Our sole purpose is to bring your husband back to you as soon as humanly possible." The investigator closes his statement and his mouth. I am grateful for both.

"Not that I am aware. He does have a friend named Lani who lives in Cali. However, I doubt she would entertain Mak in his quest to destroy our lives." The words are bitter. I know Lani wouldn't succumb to Mak's depression. She would try her damn best to talk some sense into our genius.

"Lani is not aiding and abetting. She is actually on a plane as we speak to help in our search." Mark smiles briefly towards me. A nod of my head is all he needs to know that my appreciation is unending.

The hours trickle by, leaving every detail of our lives on parade for the many governmental entities to scrutinize. Every minute that passes is another ounce of anxiety that burrows into my spirit, making a home.

By the time that everyone is satisfied that they have all the information they can obtain, I'm exhausted. My family refuses to leave my side. Instead, each takes up residence in my bed, on my floor or posting themselves outside of my door.

The thought is both comforting and useless. I love them all but, I don't want anyone if it's not my Mak.

After a very long shower, I choose to count the day as a loss. I silently make my way outside, on to my balcony. Closing the door in hopes of having a moment alone, I prop myself against the railing, looking down on a city that never sleeps.

People move across the busy streets. They smile; they laugh. The loud raucous etches and nicks at my emotions. How dare they experience happiness while my world caves down on top of me.

Sighing, I lean my head against the banister. In a silent prayer, I beg God to do everything in his power to rectify this injustice.

I'm a good man. I have helped with charity, loved unconditionally and supported those who could not support themselves. I do not often ask for favors or partial treatment. This once, I beg God above to find favor with me and me alone. I plead, barter and promise with all that I have so he can bring my husband home.

Satisfied that I have met all the standards of a decent prayer, I offer my gratitude for the time I have gotten with my soulmate. I thank the lord that he ever brought my precious boy to me.

Asking for yet one more favor, I request that wherever Mak is, that he is safe, free from the burden of his choices and mentally stable until I can wrap my arms around him once again.

I feel no better than when I first realized that my love had walked away from me. The steps taken to find him do not bring me comfort or solace. Peace is so far away from me as the reality of my loss resonates again and again, echoing pain like a shout through the hollow mountain valleys.

My legs warn me that they cannot bear the weight any longer of both my physical being and my emotional disdain. They buckle as I collapse into a ball on the cool cement floor of my porch. Everything falls around me; my hands grip my head trying desperately to hold in the shattered screams that want nothing more than to be released.

More tears procure, soaking my shirt with evidence of every lost second without my baby.

Hands find their way to my chin. I am met with the solemn hazel eyes of the one who reminds me most of my Mak. Gavin bends down, wrapping his sweet arms around me to pull my head into his chest.

In any other state, he would have met a wall of muscle that he couldn't possibly budge. However, in this moment, I need this. I lay my weight on the tiny boy while allowing him to comfort me in my darkest hour.

I have no recollection of how I ended up in a chair. When my eyes open, the pounding thud of my headache reminds me once again that the worst day of my life was not a dream but a special form of hell brought into my reality.

The sun blares down, peaking through the morning clouds. Instead of moving, I prop my hands underneath my head to stare blatantly at the morning rays of sunshine. I cut my eyes left, then right, verifying that mine is the only body on the balcony.

Looking at everything but, noticing nothing, I continue to observe the early morning sky. My heart reminds me that I am here, alive and mostly alone.

"Morning sweetheart." My mom pushes the door closed behind her. She hands me a cup of coffee. Taking the cup slowly, I thank her. Mom takes a seat beside me, sitting in companionable silence.

A few minutes pass before she decides she wants a conversation. Not wanting to come off as either cold or callous, I entertain.

"I can't for the life of me understand what was going through that boy's head." Mom lowers her lips to her coffee, shaking her head as she blows across the steaming liquid.

"He is in hell. Everything he wants to give me has been stolen from him. Mak feels guilty. Mak and guilt are a force to be reckoned with, a deadly combination. I'm sure he thinks he is doing the right thing." My explanation is the truth. I know my husband. I have no doubt my theory is spot on.

"Nothing is ever worth destroying everything. When we find him, we will help him see that he is enough. Of course we would love grandchildren. However, losing Mak isn't worth gaining a child. He is a package deal. We either want both Mak and a grandchild or just Mak. He is neither interchangeable nor replaceable." Mom speaks softly as if her words are exact facts.

In our minds they are. Convincing my husband is the only issue. He can be obstinately stubborn. It's one of his endearing qualities. At the moment it happens to be an infuriating one.

"I love him so fucking much, Mom." The crack in my voice seems to solidify my statement.

"We all do, baby. We will find him. If Sebastian Royals couldn't hide effectively, Mak has no hope." A small smile plays on my mother's lips. I actually crack a genuine smile myself. That's the understatement of the year.

With my resolve reinforced, I stand up. Reaching my hand out to my mother, I grab her dainty fingers to pull her into a hug.

"Let's get this shit show on the road. I want my husband back." I smile sweetly at my mom. My family always has my back. Everything may seem like nothing without Mak, but I will find him. I will build him up to a point where he has no way to ever fall again.