Elara’s POV
The night stretched on without mercy.
Vivian’s breathing came in shallow pulls, like the air itself had become too heavy for her lungs. Dani moved around the room in restless circles, grinding herbs, whispering prayers, lighting candles, extinguishing them, lighting them again as if repetition alone might convince the world to spare her.
“Drink this,” he urged, lifting the cup to her lips. “Just a little more.”
Vivian’s mouth parted. The liquid spilled down her chin instead of going in. Dani swore softly and wiped her face with shaking hands.
“It’s too hot,” I whispered. “She’s burning.”
“She needs warmth,” Dani insisted, though doubt had crept into his voice. “The healer said—”
“The healer said pray,” I snapped. “And you’re doing that already.”
He dropped to his knees beside the bed and pressed his forehead to the blankets. “Please,” he whispered. “Please.”
I had never seen him kneel before.
I climbed onto the mattress and curled around Vivian’s side, careful not to jostle her. Her skin felt thin, fragile, like it might tear under my touch.
“Mother,” I said softly. “It’s me.”
Her eyelids fluttered. “I know,” she murmured.
“You scared me,” I said, trying to smile. “You’re not allowed to do that.”
A faint sound escaped her lips. It might have been a laugh.
“I’m here,” I promised. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Her fingers searched blindly until they found my sleeve. She clutched it with surprising strength.
“Elara,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“I need you to forgive me.”
The words slammed into my chest.
“For what?” I asked quickly. “You didn’t do anything.”
Her breathing hitched. “I did.”
“No,” I insisted. “Whatever you think you did, it doesn’t matter. I forgive you. I forgive everything.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “You don’t understand.”
“I don’t have to,” I said desperately. “You’re my mother. That’s all that matters.”
Dani lifted his head sharply. “Vivian,” he said. “Stop this.”
She smiled weakly at him. “Let me speak.”
“You’ll rest,” he said, voice breaking. “You’ll tell her later.”
“There is no later,” she whispered.
I shook my head violently. “Don’t say that.”
Vivian turned her gaze fully to me. “You grew into exactly who you were meant to be,” she said. “Strong. Stubborn. Kind.”
“You’re still here,” I said. “You’ll see me grow more.”
Her fingers brushed my cheek, wiping tears I hadn’t noticed falling. “Be brave.”
“I don’t want to be brave,” I sobbed. “I want you.”
Dani made a broken sound and covered his face. Vivian’s breathing slowed. Each inhale came farther apart than the last.
“Mother,” I whispered. “Please.”
She lifted her head with effort and pressed a kiss to my forehead. Her lips were cool.
“I love you,” she breathed.
“I love you,” I cried.
Her body sagged.
For a moment, I didn’t understand. I waited for her chest to rise again. It didn’t.
“Mother?” I whispered.
Nothing.
I pressed my ear to her chest, panic roaring in my ears. I listened. I waited.
“Vivian,” Dani said hoarsely.
I shook her gently. “Wake up.”
Dani grabbed her shoulders, then froze.
“No,” he whispered. “No, no, no.”
The room collapsed around me. A sound ripped out of my throat, raw and uncontrollable. I clung to her, sobbing so hard my chest ached.
“She was talking,” I cried. “She was just talking.”
Dani pulled her into his arms, rocking back and forth like a man gone mad. “I failed you,” he whispered. “I failed you.”
“You didn’t,” I sobbed. “You didn’t fail anyone.”
He shook his head violently. “I failed her. I failed them both.”
The words cut through my grief, sharp and cold.
“Both?” I echoed, choking on the word.
Dani froze.
My sobbing slowed, confusion creeping in beneath the pain. “What do you mean both?”
He stared down at Vivian’s face, his lips trembling. “I promised,” he whispered.
“Promised who?” I asked. “What are you talking about?”
He sank to his knees beside the bed, clutching the blankets like they might hold him together. “I failed her,” he repeated. “I failed them both.”
Something icy spread through my chest.
“Dani,” I whispered. “Who is them?”
He didn’t answer.
I stared at him, my mother’s lifeless body between us, my heart splintering into something I couldn’t recognize anymore.
Today, I lost my mother. I lost the only woman who understood me fully, even when my dad didn't. They both love me. Always did. But mom always treated me softly, perhaps way too softly for her own good, and now my warmth is gone, and I am left alone, sharing my grief with my father.
And I can't stop thinking…
What are my parents hiding from me?