Chapter 18: Chapter Seventeen

Eros

“What…” I paused, staring at him in disbelief. “I don’t understand.” My chest tightened as I searched his face for any sign that this was some kind of sick joke. It had to be.

If this was a prank, it was a cruel and expensive one. No, it couldn’t be. I had seen Mom and Isabella this morning. We had laughed together, and Isabella had teased me, calling me a nerd, as usual. 

Mom had playfully scolded her, and then she’d laughed too when I stuck my tongue out at Isabella. The sound of her laughter still lingered in my mind, so vivid, so real.

Dad’s jaw tightened as he looked away. “Earlier today…” he began, his voice strained, cracking under the weight of the words he was about to say. He swallowed hard, trying again. “There was an accident. On the highway. A car accident… this morning.”

His words didn’t make sense. They didn’t register. They couldn’t. I stared at him, desperate for some explanation that didn’t end in the nightmare I could feel creeping closer. My twelve-year-old mind refused to grasp what he was saying. My brain rejected the very possibility, denying what I saw so plainly etched on his face.

“What do you mean? Are they hurt? Are they at the hospital? I can go see them—” I stammered, my voice rising in desperation. The truth clawed at the edges of my mind, but I pushed it away, clinging to the hope that this was some terrible misunderstanding. He couldn’t be serious.

“They’re gone, Eros,” Dad said quietly, his voice cutting through the haze in my mind, barely audible. “They didn’t make it.”

The room tilted, spinning violently. For a moment, I felt as though my soul had been ripped from my body and then shoved back in, leaving me swaying on my feet. My breath came in short, panicked gasps.

“What do you mean, gone? Gone where?” I demanded, my voice breaking. I knew I sounded like a fool, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t, wouldn’t, accept what he was saying. Not this. Not them. “They couldn’t have been in an accident. They were at the competition. I saw them this morning before leaving!”

Dad stayed silent, his eyes fixed on the whiskey bottle in his hand as though it held the answers I desperately needed. But there were no answers, only silence and the crushing weight of what he wasn’t saying. This couldn’t be real. It felt like a waking nightmare I couldn’t escape.

“Dad…” I rasped, my voice trembling with desperation. “Please. Just say it’s not true. Say something.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his face lined with an anguish I had never seen before. “The car skidded off the road,” he said, his voice cracking. “They didn’t make it. Your mother and sister… they’re gone.”

The words hit me like a sledgehammer, crashing over me like a tidal wave, dragging me into an abyss of pain and disbelief, and shattering the fragile barrier between reality and the nightmare I was trapped in. The air felt heavy, suffocating, as if the world had tilted on its axis, and I couldn’t make it stop. 

I stared at my father, the words bouncing off me as though they couldn’t possibly be real. The weight of his words refusing to sink in. “No,” I muttered, shaking my head in denial. “That’s not true. Mama said she’d be at the competition. She wouldn’t just—she wouldn’t—”

“She’s not coming back, Eros,” Dad snapped, his voice sharp and cracking, though his eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Neither of them are.”

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head more vigorously, the denial clawing its way up my throat. “No, that’s not true. Mama promised—” My voice broke, and if my heart was made of glass, it would have shattered into a million pieces right then and there.

“I’m sorry, Eros,” Dad muttered, his voice softer but no less devastating.

“No!” I screamed, the word erupting from me like a primal roar, more fiercely this time. My knees buckled as I stumbled back, clutching the medal in my hand so tightly that its edges bit into my skin. Tears blurred my vision as my breaths turned into shallow gasps. “You’re lying! They can’t be gone! They just can’t!”

Dad rose from his chair, but he didn’t move toward me. Maybe he was afraid I’d lash out. Maybe he was afraid I’d crumble even further. I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t care. Maybe I would. A part of me wanted to. I was so angry, so confused, so broken. 

“I wish I were lying, Eros,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I wish to God I were.”

My legs finally gave out, and I collapsed onto the floor, the medal slipping from my grasp and clattering onto the hardwood. My chest heaved with the force of my sobs, and I buried my face in my hands as the crushing weight of his words settled over me. 

This wasn’t a prank. This wasn’t some cruel joke. It wasn’t a bad dream. This was real. My mind began to piece it together—the laughter, the teasing, the warmth of their presence. This morning was the last time I’d see them alive.

A hand touched my shoulder—Dad’s—but I shrugged it off, retreating further into myself. “Why?” I choked out between sobs. “Why weren’t they safe? Why didn’t you keep them safe?” My words came out accusatory, venomous, but I didn’t care.

Dad didn’t respond. He returned to his chair and poured another glass of whiskey, staring at it but not drinking. The silence that followed was unbearable, broken only by my muffled cries and ragged breaths.

I don’t know how much time passed. Hours, maybe. Time had lost all meaning as I sat there, my mind looping through memories of Mom and Isabella, the memories coming in vivid bursts, cruel reminders of what I’d lost. 

Mom’s laughter, the way she kissed my forehead every night, the warmth in her hugs. Isabella’s teasing, her mischievous grin, the way she clung to me when she was scared. All of it felt so vivid and so distant at the same time.

They were gone. Just like that. And it wasn’t fair.

Mom and Isabella had such pure souls. They were kind, gentle—angels in every sense of the word.

Eventually, my tears ran dry, leaving my face streaked and my eyes red and puffy. My gaze fell on the medal lying on the floor. Slowly, I picked it up, staring at it, hollow and numb. What was the point of winning it if they weren’t here to see it? What was the point of anything if they weren’t here? What was the point of wealth and security if Dad couldn’t even keep them safe?

My thoughts spiraled. Why hadn’t Dad kept them safe? Would I be next? Who caused the accident? Had they been in pain before they died? The questions came in a relentless wave, but I wasn’t sure I wanted the answers. It hurts too much to think of them as anything other than alive. The pain was unbearable, even without knowing more.

I pushed myself to my feet unsteadily, gripping the medal like it was the last thread tethering me to reality. Without a word, I turned and left the office, ignoring Dad’s voice calling after me. I made my way to the west wing, to the solitude of my own space, where I could grieve without anyone watching.

That night, as I lay in bed staring blankly at the ceiling, I made a vow. I would honor their memory. No matter what it took, I would make them proud—even if they weren’t here to see it. But most of all, I would never let myself feel this powerless again.

For the first time, Villa Isadora didn’t feel like home. It felt like a prison—a cold, lifeless shell that would never again echo with the laughter of my mother and sister.