Chapter Twenty-Five Gone
Haven
T he fluorescent lights of the hospital are too bright, too harsh as we rush through the emergency room doors. My heart pounds in my chest, my thoughts a mess of fear and disbelief. This can’t be happening, not today—not on what was supposed to be such a happy day. Garrett is at my side, his face pale and tight with worry, and my stepfather is just behind us, his hand gripping the back of my mom’s wheelchair as the nurses guide her swiftly through the corridor. Her skin is so pale, her breathing shallow. She’s barely conscious, and every shallow breath she takes feels like a countdown, ticking down to something I’m not ready for.
"Mom," I whisper, my voice shaking as I lean down toward her, gripping her hand tightly. Her fingers are cold, limp in my grip. "We’re here. We’re at the hospital. You’re going to be okay."
The words feel empty even as I say them, but I need to believe them. I need to hold on to that hope, no matter how fragile it is.
The nurses push her into a room, and Garrett and I are forced to wait outside as they start hooking her up to machines. Time blurs. Minutes feel like hours. I sit in one of the hard plastic chairs, still in my wedding dress, staring at the tiled floor, my whole body trembling. Christian is next to me, his arm wrapped tightly around my shoulders, but I feel distant, like I’m floating outside of myself, watching everything happen to someone else.
After a while, a doctor comes out with a grim expression, causing my heart to sink. Garrett and Peter stand up immediately, and my brother has his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
"Haven, Garrett, Peter," the doctor begins, his voice gentle but firm. "I’m afraid there’s nothing more we can do. Leila’s condition has deteriorated too far, and her body is shutting down. We can make her comfortable, but it’s time to say your goodbyes."
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. My vision blurs, and I can barely breathe. Garrett is standing there, completely still, but I can see the devastation in his eyes. My stepfather lowers his head, his shoulders shaking as he lets out a ragged breath.
"No," I whisper, shaking my head. "No, this can’t be happening."
The doctor gives us a sympathetic nod and steps aside, giving us the space to go in and see her. I feel Christian’s hand on my back, grounding me, giving me the strength to move forward, but my legs feel like they’re made of lead as I step into the room.
She’s lying in the hospital bed, her breathing shallow and uneven. She looks so small, so fragile, and the sight of her like this makes my chest tighten with an unbearable ache. Garrett stands on one side of her, his hand gripping the bed rail, his jaw clenched as he fights back tears. Peter is on the other side, holding her hand in his.
I move to her side, taking her other hand, trying to find my voice, but it feels trapped in my throat. The room is too quiet, the only sound the soft beeping of the heart monitor, and it’s suffocating.
"Mom," I manage to whisper, my voice breaking. "Mom, it’s me."
Her eyelids flutter open, just barely, and her gaze meets mine. There’s recognition there, a faint flicker of awareness, and it shatters something inside me.
"I’m here," I say, my voice trembling. "We’re all here."
I don’t mention Marie. She didn’t come with us. She couldn’t, I know… and I can’t blame her for it. After everything that happened with her own mother, and then my mother collapsing at my wedding… it's too much for her.
Mom tries to speak, but no words come out, just a soft, broken sound that tears at my heart. I lean down closer, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead, my tears falling freely now.
"I love you," I whisper, my throat tightening as the words leave my mouth. "I love you so much, Mom. Thank you for everything—for always being there for me, for Garrett, for all of us."
Her lips move, and I lean closer, trying to hear her. It’s faint, but I can make out the words.
"I love you… Haven… always."
My breath hitches, and I press a kiss to her forehead, my tears wetting her skin. I can feel Christian standing behind me, his presence a comfort, but in this moment, it’s just me and her. Just a daughter saying goodbye to her mother.
"You don’t have to fight anymore," I whisper, choking on the words. "It’s okay, Mom. We’re going to be okay."
Her breathing grows more ragged, and I can feel her slipping away, each breath weaker than the last. I grip her hand tighter, desperate to hold on to her for just a little longer. Garrett lets out a quiet sob, and I hear my stepfather murmuring something to her, but the words blur together in my mind. All I can focus on is the steady rhythm of her breathing—each breath further apart than the last.
And then… nothing.
The heart monitor flatlines, the sound piercing through the room like a blade, and my world shatters.
"No," I whisper, my knees buckling as I collapse against the side of the bed. "No, no, no…"
Christian is there, pulling me into his arms, holding me tightly as I sob against his chest. The weight of it all crashes down on me, and I can’t breathe, I can’t think. My mom is gone. She’s really gone.
Garrett’s quiet sobs fill the room, and Peter holds my mom’s hand, his head bowed in silent grief. The world outside the hospital continues to turn, but for me, for us, time has stopped. I clutch Christian’s shirt, my tears soaking through the fabric, and he just holds me, his hand running gently through my hair as he whispers soothing words I can barely hear.
The rest of the night passes in a blur. Doctors come in, nurses talk to us, but I’m not really there. I’m somewhere else, lost in a sea of grief and disbelief, trying to make sense of a world without my mom in it.
But there is no sense to be made. There’s only loss.
***
When we walk through the front door, the house feels eerily quiet. It’s the kind of silence that makes everything feel heavier than it already is. The dim light filters in through the windows, and I just stand there, numb, not knowing what to do next. Christian is right behind me, close but not touching, his presence like a quiet storm that’s just waiting to break.
I’m exhausted, emotionally wrung out, and the reality of what just happened hasn’t fully hit me yet. Mom’s gone. Just like that. The words are there, in my mind, but they haven’t settled in. It feels impossible.
I slowly make my way to the living room. Christian follows, watching me closely, probably waiting for me to say something, but I have no words. I collapse onto the couch, curling my legs under me and my big skirt, and stare blankly at the wedding decorations still scattered around the room—the flowers, the ribbons, the champagne flutes we never got to drink from. It all feels like a cruel joke now.
Christian sits beside me, careful, like he’s trying to give me space while still being close enough to catch me if I fall apart.
"Haven," he says softly, reaching out to place a hand on my knee. His voice is full of concern, but I can’t look at him. If I do, I might crack open, and I’m not sure I can put myself back together after that.
I don’t respond right away. Instead, I keep staring at the decorations, the remnants of the day that was supposed to be the start of something beautiful. But now? Now it feels empty, like none of it matters anymore.
"I don’t know what to do," I whisper, my voice barely audible.
Christian’s hand tightens gently on my knee. "You don’t have to do anything right now. Just breathe."
Breathe. It seems so simple, yet impossible. I’m barely holding on as it is.
"She’s gone," I choke out, my chest tightening as the words finally leave my mouth. "My mom is gone, Christian."
He shifts closer, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his chest. I collapse into him, my face pressed against him, and the sobs I’ve been holding in all night finally break free. His hand strokes my hair as I cry, my tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt, but he doesn’t seem to care. He just holds me tighter, as if he can keep me from falling apart completely.
"I’m so sorry," he murmurs, his voice low and soothing, but the words don’t make it any better. Nothing can.
We sit like that for what feels like hours, the grief washing over me in waves, and Christian never lets go. He’s my anchor, keeping me steady even as everything around me crumbles. Eventually, my sobs quiet, but the ache remains. I pull back slightly, wiping my face with the back of my hand, embarrassed by how much I’ve fallen apart.
"I don’t know how to do this," I admit, my voice shaky. "I don’t know how to move on without her."
Christian watches me, his expression full of empathy, and I can tell he’s struggling to find the right words.
"You don’t have to move on right away," he says softly. "Grief isn’t something you just fix. It’s messy. It takes time."
I nod, though I’m not sure how much time could ever make this better. The thought of life without her feels like trying to breathe underwater.
"I don’t know who I am without her," I whisper. "Everything feels so… empty."
Christian’s eyes soften, and he reaches out, taking my hand in his. "You’re still you, Haven, and you’re not alone in this. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere."
His words are sincere, but they hit me in a way I don’t expect. Suddenly, all the doubts I’ve been trying to suppress bubble to the surface. I pull my hand from his, my heart pounding in my chest.
"I don’t even know what this is anymore," I say, my voice cracking. "This… marriage, this arrangement. I don’t know what’s real and what’s just for show."
Christian looks taken aback, and I instantly feel a pang of guilt for saying it, but it’s been sitting in the back of my mind ever since we left the hospital. With Mom gone, everything feels different. The reasons I had for staying, for playing the part, they’re slipping away.
"What do you mean?" Christian asks, his voice cautious, like he’s afraid of what I’m going to say next.
I stand up, pacing the room, running my hands through my hair. "I don’t know who I am without her, and I don’t know who I am in this marriage anymore. It started as a way to make things easier—for you, for me—but I don’t know if I can keep pretending that’s all it is."
Christian stands too, his face full of confusion and pain. "Pretending? Haven, I’m not pretending. This has become real for me. You’re not just some part of an arrangement. I care about you, more than you know."
His words hit me hard, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m losing myself, that this was never supposed to happen like this.
"I don’t know, Christian," I whisper, shaking my head. "Maybe we were just fooling ourselves, trying to make something out of nothing."
Christian takes a step toward me, and when he speaks, his voice is full of quiet desperation. "Don’t do this, Haven. Don’t pull away from me now. We’ve been through too much together."
Tears well up in my eyes again, and I look away, my heart breaking all over again. "I just… I need space. I need time to figure out what’s real and what’s just convenient."
He doesn’t say anything, and the silence between us feels deafening. Finally, Christian exhales slowly, his voice pained but understanding. "If that’s what you need, I’ll give it to you. But please, Haven… don’t push me away for good."
I can’t even respond. I just nod, tears streaming down my face, as he steps back, giving me the space I asked for. When he leaves the room, I collapse back onto the couch, feeling like I’ve just made the biggest mistake of my life, but I don’t know how to fix it. Not now.
All I know is that everything feels broken, and I don’t know how to put it back together again.