Chapter 89
I woke up in a daze, my brow furrowing as the mechanical beeping reached my ears. Even with my vision blurred, I tried to shift—only for a sharp, uncomfortable pain to shoot through my body. I coughed, groaning as I blinked to steady my sight.
"Mommy?"
Dione's voice pulled my attention to my right. She stood there, her small frame trembling, her eyes rimmed red.
"Dione?" My brows knitted. "Wh-what are you doing here? Why am I in a hospital bed?" I looked around, confusion settling like fog in my mind. I was just buying Aurora her gelato... so why—
Memories slammed into me.
I jerked upright—pain lanced through my ribs, my abdomen, everywhere.
"Sloane."
"Sis!"
Both Soeren and Thalia rushed to my sides, steadying me before I could fall apart physically, along with everything else.
"What the hell are you guys doing here?" I snapped, looking at Soeren. "Why did you bring Dione here?" Then I turned to Thalia. "Thalia, why aren't you with Aurora? She's waiting—did you bring her the gelato?"
Instinctively, my hand dropped toward my belly—only to freeze.
Flat. No curve. No bump.
"Wait." My voice trembled. I touched my abdomen again... and again. Cold dread seeped into my bones. "Where—where's my baby? Why don't I have my bump?" My fingers shook against my skin. "What... what happened to my baby?"
"Sis." Soeren caught my hands, holding them still. "Listen to me." His palms cupped my cheeks. They were shaking.
I blinked at him, tears blurring the edges of his face. "Soeren... what's going on?"
His throat bobbed. He wasn't looking at me the way he usually did—this was different. Fractured. Broken. And when I glanced around the room, I saw the same thing mirrored in Thalia's face... in Dione's.
My heart hammered painfully. "Soeren!" I hissed, prying his hands away. "Tell me what the hell is going—"
"You had a miscarriage," he said, voice cracking as the words sliced the air between us.
I froze.
"You... you got into an accident. A car hit you. Hit and run." His lips trembled. "You lost the child. And look at you—" he gestured helplessly at my bandaged side, my bruised arms. "You got badly injured. You're lucky it wasn't worse."
"Hold on," I whispered, a sob clawing up my throat. "I... I had a miscarriage?"
My vision blurred fully now. Tears spilled down my cheeks as I pressed a trembling hand back to my flat stomach.
"If... if I lost the baby, does Ro know?
What did she say?" My chest tightened until I could barely breathe.
"She must be disappointed in me, right?" The words came out strangled.
"I—I need to talk to her. I need to explain what happened.
I'll tell her everything, I'll tell her how I lost our second child. " I tried to move, to get up—
But Dione was shaking.
"Dione?" I whispered, wiping at my face. "Sweetheart..." I reached for her, gently brushing her hair. "Are you mad at mommy? I'm sorry. I wasn't careful enough—"
She shook her head violently, tears spilling over. Then her lips parted—and the world cracked. "Pops is dead, Mommy," she sobbed.
I stared at her. "...I'm sorry, what?"
Her shoulders crumpled as Thalia pulled her close. Dione buried her face into her aunt's body, her sobs breaking through the room like shattering glass.
"Thalia," I choked, numbness flooding my limbs. "Tell me this is a joke. Come on—you're pranking me, right? Hidden cameras? Anything?"
Thalia didn't answer. Soeren didn't either.
My breathing hitched, panic clawing up my throat. "Can someone tell me the truth?!" I screamed, the room spinning, pain ripping through every inch of me. My heart felt like it was collapsing under its own weight.
"Sloane..." Thalia's voice came out hoarse, cracked. She gently rubbed my daughter's back, grounding her even as she seemed barely grounded herself. She met my gaze with swollen, tear-filled eyes. "Rory died last night."
Everything stopped.
"The moment we brought you here," she continued, swallowing hard, "Rory had a complication. The doctors said she had a massive internal hemorrhage. The AML... plus her recent surgery... it caused internal trauma."
My hands flew to my mouth as a sound tore out of me—raw, wounded, unrecognizable.
"Sloane..." Thalia shook her head weakly, her lips trembling. "Aurora was pronounced dead last night." Her voice broke entirely. "Her body... her body is already in the hospital morgue."
As if every shred of pain in my body fused into one violent numbness, I ripped the IV line from the back of my hand and lurched out of the bed, nearly collapsing.
"Sis!" Soeren grabbed for me, but I shoved him away with a force I didn't know I still had.
"Bring me to her!" The words tore out of me. I didn't wait for anyone. I ran—barefoot, shaking, every step searing through my injured body.
Ro... Ro, you promised. You told me you'd wait.
I stumbled down the hallway, clutching at the walls, until the cold blue letters of MORGUE came into view on the east wing. I slammed the door open.
The attendant inside jerked in surprise. I didn't care.
"Tell me..." I gasped, breath ragged, voice splintering. "Tell me where's my wife. Where is Aurora DeLacroix?"
For a moment, he only stared. Then, slowly, he moved to one of the steel drawers. When he pulled the handle, the refrigerator hissed—a sound that sliced straight into me.
Cold air washed out and swallowed me whole.
The metallic scent—sterile, sharp, unbearably final—wrapped around my throat until it felt like something inside me refused to swallow, refused to breathe. My teeth sank into my lip just to stay upright; the taste of blood bloomed on my tongue.
Behind me, I heard the door open. Thalia. Soeren. And Dione.
My daughter's arms were clutched around Thalia's waist, her small face buried against her aunt's side as she watched me with wide, terrified eyes.
I turned back to the stainless steel bed being pulled out.
The attendant said something—take your time, maybe. Or are you ready? It didn't matter. Every sound was drowned by the thunder roaring in my skull.
I stepped forward.
Toward the white sheet. Toward the thing I was praying wasn't her, couldn't be her.
Every step was a betrayal. Every breath sliced me open from the inside.
The sheet was pulled down to the collarbones, and my world stopped moving.
Aurora. My Dawn. My wife.
Still. Silent. Gone.
Her lips—those lips that once snarled against my neck, laughed into my mouth, kissed every broken piece of me back together—were drained of color. Her lashes rested softly, like sleep had finally found her gently.
But everything inside me screamed: she is not sleeping.
My hands shook violently as I reached for her. My fingertips brushed her cheek.
Cold. Too cold.
"Aurora..." My voice cracked, shattering like glass. "Ro... honey, wake up. Please."
A choked sob escaped, strangling itself in my throat. "Didn't you ask for gelato?" A broken laugh tore out of me—small, hysterical, hideous. "Raspberry rose, remember? You wanted raspberry rose. I—I was coming back. I was coming back. Why didn't you wait for me?"
My hand slid to her shoulder.
Cold. Stiff. Still. Still gone.
A sob tore through my ribs, folding me forward until my forehead rested against her collarbone. Even through the chill of her skin, I could still smell the faint trace of her shampoo—the one I teased her about for smelling like cedar and cigarettes.
My hands clutched her shoulders. "I should've stayed," I whispered against her skin as if she could still hear me. "Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell me you were getting worse? That you were in pain? Why did you hide it from me?"
The attendant stood quietly against the wall, as if he understood grief like this—grief that couldn't be interrupted.
I stayed bent over her, shaking, clinging to her body.
"Ro... please, wake up." My voice cracked, the words tumbling out like a plea against the impossible.
"Ro. Honey, wake up now. I won't be mad.
Please. Please wake up." I cupped her face, as if warmth from my palms could coax life back into her.
My body stiffened when the attendant gently cleared his throat.
"There's something else," he said. I looked up, my hands still resting on Aurora's shoulders. "The nurse from the ICU asked me to give you this."
He extended a folded piece of hospital stationery. One corner carried a smear of dried blood from an IV line. The handwriting—sharp, slanted—was unmistakably hers.
My breath caught. I snatched it from him with trembling fingers.
To my Sol.
The words stared up at me. The paper shook in my grip as I unfolded it.
My vision blurred before the first line even registered.
Mon Soleil,
If you're reading this, then my body finally did what my heart never could—it gave up on you.
I felt it this morning—the shift inside me. Something tightening, something dimming. I've been hiding it ever since I woke up, but I could feel my body screaming for rest.
I didn't want to frighten you. I didn't want to hurt you.
You were already carrying too much to handle something like this, and yet I was so tired of being a burden made of bruises and hospitals.
I've fought for my life long enough, and I guess this is it. I wanted to laugh, like that would somehow lessen the pain, but it hurts too much.
When I asked the nurse for paper, my hands were trembling as I wrote this. She thought it was the pain, but I knew it wasn't.
It was fear. Not the fear of dying—I've lived with death so long it feels like an old roommate.
No. It wasn't dying I feared.
I was afraid of leaving you, and our children, alone in a world I've already ruined for you.
So I need you to promise me something, Sloey.
Not for me—but for you.
You must live, Sloey. Even if I'm not beside you. Even if it hurts so badly you forget how to breathe.
You walked into my life like sunlight—soft at first, then unstoppable. You made me believe love was enough. That I could stay. That I deserved to.
Thank you for that, my Sol.
If my body fails today, or tomorrow, or even next week, just know one thing: I loved you with everything a broken thing could give. I loved you so fiercely it scared me more than dying ever did.
And I'm so sorry, my love. For the hospital beds, the secrets, the blood, the pain.
For not telling you sooner that I felt myself slipping. I should've had two more years, but maybe I reached my limit.
But hey—I stayed long enough to love you. I just wanted one more morning with you. One more kiss. One more "goodnight, my dawn." One more I love you.
If I don't wake up again, don't you dare think this was your fault. Don't think you could've saved me.
You already did, Sol.
You saved me every day you loved me.
Je t'aime. Je t'aime. Je t'aime.
Always remember you'll be my sun—my Sol, my Sloey, my Sloane, my wife, my everything—in this lifetime and the next. In every universe we exist in.
I have loved you and will love you for every thousand years I'm given.
If reincarnation is real, if parallel universes are real, then I hope for one thing: that we always find each other. That no matter what happens, we end up side by side, every day, every breath.
Always your dawn, always and forever yours,
Aurora
I folded the letter, holding it to my chest as I looked at Aurora's lifeless body. I rested my forehead against hers as my sobs tore free—raw, animal, clawing their way out of my throat. I pressed my lips to her temple, whispering through the pain ripping me apart.
"Ro... take me with you. Please. Don't leave me here. Take me with you."
My wife—my dawn—was already gone, leaving only the crushing weight of her absence behind. I stayed there, holding her, waiting for numbness to overtake the agony. There was no catharsis, no soft goodbye. Only the ruin we had promised to share.
"I love you, Ro," I whispered in her ear, kissing her cold forehead.
My thumb brushed her pale lips. "I will always be your wife.
In this lifetime. In the next. In every universe.
I will always, always be yours." I leaned in and kissed her cold lips, letting the grief consume me.
?·???°???°???·?
As the memories—from the accident to the moment I lost the love of my life—rushed back, I could only stare at the coffin in front of me. My eyes burned, but I refused to look away. I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to leave her alone.
I sat in the first pew, unmoving. My body didn't feel like mine anymore. The injuries, the bruises, the healing wounds still marked my skin, a painful reminder of the day I lost another angel—of the day I lost the dawn of my life.
Leaning back against the pew, I swallowed hard and reached out to stroke Dione's hair. She turned to me, her eyes swollen from crying as much as I had.
"You wanna sleep, sweetie?" I asked, my voice hoarse, the words thick in my throat.
She shook her head and curled closer, resting her cheek against my chest. Her small arms tightened around me. "Mommy," she murmured, looking up through damp lashes, "do you think Pops is peaceful now? Do you think she's okay since she doesn't feel the pain anymore?"
Her question forced me to swallow against the ache rising in my chest. I glanced back at the coffin, then lowered my head to kiss her forehead.
"She's definitely at peace now," I whispered. Despite everything inside me breaking, I knew Aurora was finally resting—free from the pain her body made her fight every day. No medication. No treatments. No needles. Just stillness. Quiet. Peace.
My gaze drifted to the large frame displayed at the front—Aurora, alive and smiling. Beautiful. Sharp. Radiant. We'll be fine, Ro, I promised silently. Not now... but soon. Let me grieve you first. Let us grieve you.
A video montage played on the chapel's screen. Guests watched quietly, murmuring about Aurora's life—her reign in haute couture, her fashion empire, the legacy she built. On-screen, Aurora bowed after each fashion show, confident and proud, her smile effortless.
"She wanted that."
Thalia's voice made me jolt slightly. I turned to see her standing beside me, offering a faint smile. Her eyes were rimmed red, her nose pink from crying.
"She told me once," Thalia said, nodding toward the screen, "that she wanted her videos played like this. She wanted everyone at her funeral to remember her alive."
A soft, breathy laugh escaped her before she apologized. "I should've moved faster. If I had, maybe... maybe you wouldn't have had to go through another miscarriage."
A knot twisted in my chest. I shook my head, stroking Dione's hair as she clung to me, her face hidden against my shirt.
"No one's at fault," I said quietly, staring at the coffin. "Sometimes I think... maybe it was Ro's way of not leaving me to handle everything alone. But still... I wish I hadn't miscarried. Maybe I could've been stronger."
I let out a hollow laugh, pulling Dione closer. "Maybe Dione and I could've faced it together. But maybe the child wasn't meant for us."
Thalia didn't speak again. We simply stood there, both of us staring at Aurora's coffin—both imagining the life she should've still been living. She should've been in Switzerland by now. She was scheduled for transfer the day after she died. But she never made it.
After the final mass, the guests gathered to bring her to her resting place. I clutched her portrait frame, my fingers brushing the glass.
Standing before her coffin, I pressed my palm against it, my heart squeezing painfully in my chest. Then I leaned in and kissed the glass before stepping back.
"Can we open her casket?" I asked the funeral staff.
He hesitated, confused, then nodded. Soeren stepped beside me, holding a paper bag. "Are you sure, sis?"
I nodded. "It's hers. It will always be hers."
The staff carefully lifted the casket's glass cover.
I reached inside and took out the porcelain doll—the one made in my image. I placed it gently in the open space. Then I took out a small ring box. Opening it once, I brushed my thumb over the wedding band removed from her finger when she passed.
My breath hitched, a faint, broken laugh leaving me. My vision blurred, but I didn't cry—not yet.
"Ro," I whispered, looking at her serene face as I tucked the ring box beside her left hand.
"In another life, let's get married again, okay?
Keep this with you. I want you to know this ring—and even the next one I'll wear—is yours.
You're the only person I ever wanted to marry. So... in another life, my dawn."
I leaned in and kissed her forehead one last time before stepping back and giving the staff a nod. They closed the glass, then sealed the casket entirely.
Slowly, it was lowered into the ground.
One by one, people offered their prayers and tossed flowers into the grave as the coffin descended. I stepped aside, holding her portrait tightly, watching as they buried her.
The sky was gray, the sun hidden—as if even heaven mourned her.
It was sudden. Too sudden.
She should've still been alive. If only she hadn't taken the bullet meant for me. It was supposed to be mine. I was the target of that gunman.
As people left one by one, I remained still, waiting for the last footsteps to fade. The tombstone stood firmly over the fresh soil where Aurora now rested.
For a long, suspended moment, nothing existed except the cold around me, the coldness of her body in the morgue, the warmth of her memory lodged in my chest, and the warmth spilling uncontrollably from my eyes.
My hand, as if moving on its own, lifted to touch the tombstone.
It rested there, steady, tracing the name engraved on the stone.
And as if the fragile resolve I had been clinging to had finally shattered, my knees buckled.
I fell to the ground, kneeling as sobs tore out of me.
Trembling, I placed the framed picture of her beside the tombstone.
"Ro," I rasped, choking on the word.
I couldn't move. I could only kneel there before the stone that carried my wife's name. My fingers dug into its rough surface, as if touch alone could stitch her soul back into my hands.
My wounds throbbed, screaming for rest, but I refused to listen. My head pounded from the stitches and the impact I refused to let the doctors check after Aurora died.
"Sis," Soeren's voice came from behind me. "You need to go home. You need to rest."
The doctors said I needed close monitoring—from the car impact, from the miscarriage, from everything. But none of that mattered.
I wanted to feel it all. Every pain, every regret, every ounce of grief from losing the person I had spent years searching for.
"No." I shook my head. "Let me—" My voice cracked apart. "Let me stay a little longer."
"You did," Thalia said softly as she crouched beside me. I looked at her, streaked with tears. She gave me a faint, trembling smile. "You've been here almost an hour, Sloane."
An hour? I almost laughed. An hour—yet it felt like minutes. Or a lifetime. Or both.
I turned back to the tombstone, to the stillness that replaced the heartbeat I used to fall asleep against every night.
"Ro," I whispered, as if saying her name could summon breath back into her lungs. "My dawn."
A soft, broken sob rose behind me. I turned and saw her—my daughter—standing beside Millie. Millie held her tightly, arms wrapped around her small body. Dione's face was red and swollen from crying, her eyes terrified and hollow.
And suddenly, painfully, I remembered—I wasn't entirely alone in this world. My daughter was still here. My daughter, who had just lost her mother. My daughter, who watched me unravel at her grave.
My fingers loosened from the stone. Slowly. Reluctantly. As if letting go meant releasing the last tether holding me upright.
I pressed my face to the cold tombstone and kissed it, letting the roughness scrape my lips. Then I forced myself to stand.
My knees buckled immediately, but Soeren caught me under the arms before I hit the ground. For the first time, I allowed someone to pull me away from Aurora.
Step by step. Inches only—but still, away.
I kept looking back at the grave, as if I were leaving a piece of myself behind. As if I were abandoning her.
When the tombstone finally slipped out of view, something inside me tore open. A sound ripped from my chest—raw, animal, unrecognizable. Soeren gripped me tighter, Thalia pressed her hand to my back, and Dione whimpered as she reached out for me.
I don't remember walking away. I don't remember the car ride home.
All I remembered was the feeling of losing Aurora—losing the coldness that lingered on my fingertips. And in that moment, I felt shattered. Ruined.