chapter 136
Elena's POV:
The injection site burned cold beneath my skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of Sebastian's palm covering my eyes.
I couldn't bring myself to look at the needle anyway. Not when every fiber of my being felt hollow, carved out by grief.
"I'm sorry," Sebastian's voice cracked above me, his thumb stroking my temple with desperate gentleness. "I should have kept him safe. I should have—"
"Don't." The word scraped past my throat, raw and broken.
I shook my head against his hand, feeling the tremor that ran through his fingers. "You couldn't have stopped him. No one could have stopped a man who wanted to die."
The words tasted like ash, like finality. Like accepting a truth I'd spent years denying. Even before Mom died, there'd been a shadow in Dad's eyes, a weariness that went bone-deep.
Rebecca had just been the chain keeping him tethered to this world, and I'd been the lock.
Now the chain was broken, and I—
The world tilted sideways, darkness rushing up to swallow me whole.
I heard Sebastian's panicked shout, felt his arms catching me as I fell, but everything felt distant, muffled, like I was drowning in cotton.
Dad, why couldn't you wait? Why couldn't you stay for me, for your grandchildren?
In the darkness, I dreamed.
I stood in a garden filled with light, and Dad was there, younger somehow, the lines of pain erased from his face. He smiled at me with that old warmth I remembered from before everything went wrong.
"I'm okay now, sweetheart," he said, and his voice carried on a breeze that smelled like Mom's perfume. "I'm where I need to be. Where I've wanted to be for so long."
"But I need you," I whispered, reaching for him even as he began to fade. "The babies need their grandfather. Sebastian needs—"
"Sebastian will take care of you." Dad's smile turned knowing, almost teasing. "He loves you more than his own life. I saw it in his eyes, even through my anger. Let him love you, Elena. Let yourself be happy."
"Dad—"
But he was already gone, scattered like dandelion seeds on the wind.
I woke to early morning sunlight filtering through hospital blinds, my mouth dry as sand. Sebastian sat beside my bed, both hands wrapped around one of mine, his forehead pressed to our joined fingers. His shoulders shook silently.
"Sebastian?" My voice came out thin, fragile as spun glass.
His head snapped up, and the raw devastation in his eyes stole what little breath I had. "Elena. Thank God."
He pressed my hand to his cheek, stubble rough against my palm. "You've been unconscious for hours. The doctors said—they said it was shock, that you and the baby are okay, but—"
"The baby?" My free hand flew to my stomach, panic spiking through the grief.
"They're fine. Strong heartbeats, no signs of distress." He guided my hand to where I could feel the familiar flutter of movement. "They're fighters, like their mother."
I let out a shuddering breath, then another, until I was crying again. "He's really gone, isn't he? My father is really gone."
Sebastian gathered me against his chest, careful of the IV line, rocking me gently as I sobbed into his shirt. "I'm so sorry, love. "
"I don't have a father anymore." The words came out broken, each one a fresh wound.
"You have me," he whispered fiercely into my hair. "You have our children. You have Margaret, who adores you. You're not alone, Elena. You'll never be alone again."
But loneliness wasn't about the number of people around you. It was about the specific shape of the absence, the particular warmth that would never again exist in the world.
The safety of being someone's daughter, of knowing there was one person who'd loved me before I'd done anything to earn it—that was gone forever.
"He said he was going somewhere good," I mumbled against Sebastian's chest, remembering the dream with strange clarity. "That I shouldn't worry."
Sebastian's arms tightened fractionally. "If anyone deserved peace, it was him. "
"I know." I pulled back enough to look up at him, seeing my own exhaustion reflected in his face. "I know all the logical reasons. I know he was in pain. I know he felt trapped. But Sebastian, I need time. I need time to not be okay with this."
"Take all the time you need." He pressed his lips to my forehead, breathing me in. "Years, if necessary. I'll be here for every minute of it."
The next seven days blurred together like watercolors in rain.
I slept in fitful spurts, waking at odd hours to stare at nothing, my mind cycling through the same useless thoughts.
If I'd called him more often. If I'd insisted he come to my birthday party.
Sebastian never left my side, even when restlessness drove me from bed at three in the morning. He'd follow me to the window where I'd stand watching the city lights blur through tears, his presence a solid warmth at my back, never pushing, just there.
On the fourth night, he woke to find me sitting up in the hospital bed, staring at the wall.
"Can't sleep?" His voice was rough with his own exhaustion.
"I keep thinking about what he said. About death being an escape." I traced patterns on the blanket, avoiding his eyes. "Is that what it is? An escape? Or is it just... nothing?"
Sebastian sat up, pulling me back against his chest. "I don't know, love. But I know your father believed he was going somewhere better. Somewhere without pain."
"Then maybe he was right. Maybe death really is a kindness for some people." The thought sat heavy and strange in my chest. "Maybe holding on would have been the cruelty."
"Maybe." He pressed his face into my hair.
On the seventh day, Alfred appeared at the hospital room door with a familiar food container. The smell of Sebastian's grandmother's soup filled the air, and my stomach actually growled in response—the first real hunger I'd felt all week.
"Lady Margaret sends her love," Alfred said gently, setting up the meal with practiced efficiency. "She said to tell you she's keeping your studio ready for whenever you're prepared to return."
"Thank her for me." I managed a wan smile. "For everything."
After Alfred left, Sebastian watched me eat half the bowl of soup with an intensity that would have been unnerving from anyone else. From him, it just felt like love.
"I need to call Dr. Klein," he said eventually. "Would you be open to that?"
Dr. Klein. The therapist who'd helped Sebastian work through his own demons.