Chapter 109
Julian's POV
These past few days, I'd contacted a military doctor who had treated many high-ranking officials. His medical skills were excellent and he was extremely discreet. Perhaps he could do something about Nora's mother's condition.
He gave Moira a preliminary examination in her room. When he came out, his expression was grave.
"Mr. Sterling, I've reviewed all the scans and medical records. I need to be frank with you—Mrs. Grey's condition has progressed beyond what medication and therapy can address."
The news hit like a physical blow.
"What's the prognosis?"
He removed his glasses, cleaning them slowly. "Though she occasionally had brief moments of lucidity and tenderness, the trauma had carved permanent neural pathways. As the condition worsened, the lucid intervals would grow shorter and shorter, while the frequency of her descents into despair would increase..."
"How long?"
"Hard to say. Could be months. Could be..." He hesitated. "It could happen at any time. You need to prepare the family for that possibility. And increase monitoring—patients in her condition can become a danger to themselves."
After he left, I stood outside Moira's door for a long moment. Through the small window, I could see her lying in bed, staring at nothing.
I pushed the door open quietly.
When I sat down beside her bed, she didn't react. Her eyes were open but unfocused, lost somewhere I couldn't reach.
"Mrs. Grey," I said softly. "I'm Julian Sterling. I wanted you to know—I care deeply for your daughter."
The words felt inadequate, but I pushed on anyway.
"I'll take care of her. I'll make sure she's never alone, never unprotected. Whatever happens, I'll be there."
For a moment, I thought I saw something flicker in her eyes. A spark of awareness, maybe recognition. Her lips moved slightly, though no sound came out.
Then she gave the smallest nod.
It was barely perceptible, but it was there.
My throat tightened. I reached out and gently squeezed her hand. "Thank you."
I stayed with her until visiting hours ended, then slipped out quietly.
Some promises were meant to be kept in silence.
---
Over the next few days, whenever my schedule allowed, I accompanied Nora on her visits to the medical center.
Marianne noticed, of course. She was too sharp not to.
One afternoon, while Nora was in the restroom, Marianne cornered me in the hallway.
"Mr. Sterling," she said carefully. "May I ask what your relationship is with my niece?"
I met her gaze steadily. "We have feelings for each other. We're not officially together yet, but I'm working on that."
Her eyebrows rose slightly. "You seem very concerned about her wellbeing."
"I am."
"Why?"
The question was direct, but I appreciated the frankness.
"Because she's extraordinary," I said simply. "She fights for people who can't fight for themselves. She has principles that most people only pretend to have. Despite everything life has thrown at her, she hasn't become bitter or cynical."
Marianne studied me for a long moment. "Nora's been through a lot. She doesn't need more disappointment."
"I have no intention of disappointing her."
"Good." Her expression softened slightly. "She deserves someone who sees her value."
Nora emerged from the restroom, and the conversation ended.
---
Nora's POV
During this time, besides accompanying my mother, I spent most of my time on my newly promising work.
The conference invitation arrived on a Tuesday morning: Regional Journalism and Community Reporting Symposium, March 15-16, Aetheria.
I almost deleted it. Two days away from work, travel expenses, hotel costs—it all seemed like too much. But the program looked genuinely valuable, and Jesse had been pushing me to network more.
"Go," he said when I mentioned it. "Consider it professional development."
So I went.
The symposium was held at a university journalism school, a grand old building with high ceilings and marble floors. The main auditorium was packed with reporters from all over.
The afternoon session featured several Pulitzer winners discussing investigative reporting in declining industrial areas. I took notes furiously, trying to absorb every piece of advice.
But by evening, I couldn't shake a growing sense of unease.
Outside, the weather had turned. Dark clouds rolled in, and rain began to fall in sheets. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
On stage, they were showing a documentary about journalism families—multi-generational reporters carrying on a tradition of truth-telling. The footage showed warm family dinners, proud parents watching their children accept awards.
I thought of Mom. I thought of Dad.
My hands began to sweat. My heart rate picked up for no reason.
Something's wrong.
The feeling was irrational, baseless. But it grew stronger with each passing minute, pressing down on my chest like a weight.
I tried to shake it off, focusing on the presentation. But the fear wouldn't leave.
---
Back at the hotel, I tried to relax. Took a shower, ordered room service, forced myself to review my notes.
But the unease persisted.
I finally gave up around eleven and went to bed, hoping sleep would help.
Instead, I dreamed.
Mom stood in an open field, young again—the way she looked in photos. She wore a simple dress and sat astride a black horse, its neck adorned with a string of wind chimes that sang softly in the breeze.
"Mom!" I called out. "Wait!"
But no matter how fast I ran, I couldn't catch up. She just smiled over her shoulder and kept riding, the horse's hooves barely touching the ground.
The wind chimes grew louder, more insistent.
"Don't leave me!" I screamed.
She disappeared over the horizon. The sound of chimes faded into silence.
I jerked awake, gasping. My phone said 2:07 AM.
Outside, rain battered the windows. My heart was racing, my pillow damp with sweat.
Just a dream. It's just a dream.
But the fear wouldn't let go.
---
The phone rang at 6:43 AM.
I fumbled for it, still half-asleep. Lucas's name flashed on the screen.
"Lucas? What—"
"Aunt Moira's gone." His voice broke. "She's gone, Nora."
The words didn't make sense. I sat up, pressing the phone harder against my ear. "What do you mean?"
"Last night. Around two AM." He was controlling his emotions. "The nurse stepped away for about ten minutes. When she came back... Aunt Moira had broken a vase and used the glass shards to... slit her wrists."
The room tilted. My vision tunneled.
"They tried to save her, but there was too much blood. I'm so sorry, Nora. I'm truly sorry."
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.
"I'm coming home," I heard myself say. "I'll be there as soon as I can."
I don't remember ending the call. Don't remember getting out of bed or packing my bag.
The next clear memory I have is sitting in the back of a taxi, watching the city blur past through tear-filled eyes.