Chapter 114 The Weight of Loss
Chapter One Hundred and Fourteen
Valenticia’s POV
Dimitri sat on the couch, staring at nothing. His hands trembled, his shoulders slumped. His eyes were empty, and his lips were dry and pale. I stood there for a few seconds, unsure what to do. My heart was already racing because of how he looked. Something terrible had happened, and I could feel it in the air.
I took a slow step toward him. “Dimitri,” I said softly, “what happened?”
He didn’t move. He just rubbed his face hard with both hands, like he was trying to erase something from his mind. His breath was uneven, and his voice came out cracked again. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
I knelt beside him, feeling the panic crawl up my throat. “You’re scaring me. Tell me what’s wrong.”
He still didn’t answer. His body was stiff, his eyes fixed on the floor.
“Dimitri, please talk to me,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm.
When he didn’t respond, I stood and went to the kitchen. I poured a glass of water and came back, setting it on the table in front of him. “Here, drink this,” I said.
He stared at it for a long time before finally picking it up. His hand shook as he lifted the glass, but he drank a few sips before lowering it again.
Then his voice broke. “My father’s gone.”
I froze. “What do you mean?”
He swallowed hard, his eyes still fixed on the floor. “He died this morning.”
My stomach dropped. “Dimitri…”
“A heart attack,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “He was fine last night. He was talking to me about some stupid work thing. Then the call came this morning. It was already too late. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”
His voice cracked completely. He tried to keep talking, but the words fell apart in his throat. His shoulders started to shake, and the sound that came from him made my chest hurt.
I sat beside him quickly and placed my hand on his shoulder. “Hey… hey, it’s okay,” I said softly.
He didn’t respond. He just broke.
His face fell into his hands, and his body shook as he cried. He didn’t care how he looked or how loud he was. The tears just came, one after another, and there was nothing I could do except sit there beside him and let him grieve.
The sound filled the room, raw and heavy. I wanted to say something that would help, but there was nothing that could fix this. Sometimes there are no right words.
So I stayed quiet and kept my hand on his shoulder until his sobs began to slow.
After a while, he spoke again, his voice rough and broken. “Everything feels wrong now,” he said. “The house feels empty, the air feels strange, even breathing feels hard. I don’t know what to do, Val. I don’t know what comes next.”
I took a deep breath and looked at him. “You don’t have to do anything tonight,” I said gently. “You’ve done enough. You need to rest.”
He shook his head slowly. “I can’t sleep.”
“You will,” I said. “You’re exhausted.”
He leaned back, wiping his face with his sleeve. “I shouldn’t be here. I should be with my family, handling things.”
“You can still do that tomorrow,” I said firmly. “Right now, you need to take a breath. You need to sit down and let yourself be human for a minute. It’s okay.”
He stared at me for a moment, like he was about to argue, but then he stopped. His eyes dropped again, and his shoulders slumped. “You’re right,” he said quietly. “I just don’t know how to do this. He was my father. He’s supposed to be there. He’s supposed to call me and annoy me about everything. I can’t believe he’s gone.”
“I know,” I said softly. “It doesn’t make sense right now, but you’ll get through it. You don’t have to rush.”
He took another shaky breath. “I feel like I failed him. We fought last week. I said things I didn’t mean. I didn’t even apologize.”
I shook my head. “Don’t do that to yourself. He knew you loved him.”
“How do you know?” he asked, his voice rising.
“Because fathers always know,” I said. “Even when we’re angry, they still know.”
He went quiet again.
I stood up and went to the closet. I came back with a pillow and a blanket. “You’re staying here tonight,” I said, placing them beside him.
He looked up. “Val—”
“No,” I interrupted. “You’re not arguing. You’re not driving. You’re not alone tonight. You’re staying.”
He hesitated but finally nodded. “Okay.”
“Good,” I said. “Lie down. Try to rest. I’ll be in the next room if you need anything.”
He nodded again, his eyes heavy now. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” I said softly. “You’d do the same for me.”
I watched him as he leaned back on the couch and pulled the blanket over himself. Within minutes, his breathing slowed. The exhaustion hit him all at once, and soon he was asleep.
His face was calm now, but I could still see the dried tears on his cheeks. My heart ached just looking at him.
I turned off the lamp beside the couch and stood there for a while, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest. The house was silent except for that soft rhythm.
“Rest, Dimitri,” I whispered. “You’re safe here.”
I took a few quiet steps back, still looking at him one last time before turning away. I walked down the hallway toward my room, feeling the weight of everything pressing against me.
When I reached my door, I looked back once more. He was still asleep, lost in whatever dreamless place grief allows.
I closed my door gently and leaned against it, letting out a shaky breath. My eyes burned, and my chest felt tight.
I whispered a small prayer—for him, for his father, and for myself. For strength, for peace, for a little bit of light in the middle of all this chaos.
Then I turned off the light and stepped away from the door, leaving him to rest as the night deepened.