He clenched his jaw, still nursing his injured nose before he straightened, blood running freely down his face, and strode toward the doctors without another word. They moved into action immediately, ushering him into a side room.
My heart was still pounding.
Both of your mothers are dying.
Paralyzing confusion pulsed through my veins. When Tristian took my hand, the spell broke.
“I’m sorry,” he rumbled. “I should’ve come sooner”
“It’s okay,” I murmured back. “You had more important things to deal with.”
Tristian squeezed my hand. “Are you ready to go see her?”
“Yes,” I nodded, squeezing his hand back.
I allowed him to walk me into his mother’s hospital room, the atmosphere thick and filled with a quiet, inevitable dread. A doctor wasbusy inside, fussing with charts and looking at machines. He greeted us politely enough, though warily—he must have seen what happened in the hall.
Sitting beside his mother’s bed, I watched silently as Tristian resumed discussing options.
But they were narrowing each day that passed. The doctor was clear: hope was in short supply now, and Tristian needed to ready himself to make a decision, now that he was solely responsible for his mother’s care.
Placing my hand in his silently as he stood beside me, I could see the visible tension in his shoulders soften before my eyes drifted over to the delicate, frail woman he knew as his mother. She was a portrait of fragility, her pulse a faint, stuttering rhythm.
My heart clenched as I watched her mindlessly stare at the wall ahead, waiting for the world to guide her, waiting for something to liberate her. And at that moment, I could’ve been dreaming, could’ve been blinded by the tears, but her eyes… they’d landed on me. Not accidental. Her gaze… it was intentional.
It wasn’t a random twitch of dying nerves. It was a haunting, lucid tether. Behind the mask of machines and the perfect stillness of her face, a soul was screaming to be heard. I recognized that look, the silent, agonizing plea of a woman caged.
And I saw her.Not just the body in the bed. Not just the skin and bones and machines. But her. The mother. The woman. The fighter.
And I knew, deep in my gut, that she was still in there. Still living. Still fighting. Still holding on.
Chapter forty-two
Ingrid
Sitting in the parking garage of the hospital, I said nothing as Tristian climbed in beside me. He didn’t put the key in the ignition, didn’t move… and we just sat there. For what felt like forever.
“You okay?” he finally asked.
“I-I don’t… know.”
A minute passed. Maybe two.
The garage was almost completely silent except for the distant sound of an elevator somewhere and the low hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. I stared at the concrete wall in front of us.
“Can I ask you something?” I said, and he nodded from the corner of my eye. “How did it feel,” I asked, quietly staring ahead. “The first time you felt like you lost her.”
He didn’t answer right away.
“Like the world was falling apart,” he said finally. “And nobody else noticed. Everything kept moving… the hospital, the doctors, the machines—and I stood there thinking, she’s already gone. And nobody’s saying it.”
“You never said it.”
“If you don’t acknowledge your nightmares… they aren’t real.”
“My mother watched me live a nightmare with my father… but she never acknowledged me.” Tears came to my eyes. “Did you ever get used to it?” I asked. “Losing someone you loved more and more each day?”
His hand found mine, clutching it tight. “No,” was all he said.
