Chapter 48
Chapter forty-eight
Tristian
Time had stopped.
My fingers dug into the thin fabric of her hospital gown, knuckles white. I held her like if I let go she’d disappear back into wherever she’d been.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
She didn’t say anything at first. She just stroked my hair, her touch steady despite everything. Like she could see every drop of blood on my hands, every sin I’d committed in her name, and she was still choosing me anyway.
“It’s all my fault,” I choked out. “I should’ve never called you that day. You shouldn’t have been in that car. You wouldn’t have—”
“Tristian,” she murmured gently.
“I thought I killed you…”
Her breath hitched, small and fragile. “You didn’t kill me,” she said softly. “You saved me.”
I shook my head. “No. You were saving me. Like always. I was so angry in that cell that I didn’t even get to tell you I loved you or say goodbye one last time.”
She pressed her forehead to mine. Her hands were trembling. “You didn’t need to.”
I tried to hold it together. I really did. But feeling her warmth again—feeling the life in her—it pulled me back from wherever I’d been living for the last few years. The world was suddenly too bright with her in it again.
“I didn’t know if I’d ever get this again,” I choked. “You. Alive. Talking.”
Her hand slipped into mine, her fingers frail but lacing through my own, calming me instantly. “Now you don’t need to know that feeling anymore… I’m right here.”
I let out a heavy sigh, my mind filled with relief and disbelief.
Behind us, I heard Ingrid shift. She didn’t interrupt as she stood there, nervous and silent in the corner of the room.
I pulled away from my mother, trying to reclaim some semblance of the man I was supposed to be.
My mother gave me a knowing with a tired smile, her eyes drifting past my shoulder.
“Well… are you going to introduce me?”
Later, the room had settled into something quiet and warm. First time in years the silence didn’t feel like a threat.
The machines hummed nearby, and the sun bled warm, amber light across the floor. Margaret was still fussing over my mother. Checking vitals, adjusting pillows, moving with the efficiency of someone who genuinely cared.
My mother’s awakening still felt like something I’d dreamed. Especially standing beside her now, feeling her lean on me as we took slow laps around the room to keep the blood moving.
She’d loved Ingrid immediately. Watching them together, I could see Ingrid’s shoulders finally dropping, the tension bleeding out of her. It filled me with something fierce and warm. I knew without question that Ingrid was the only woman who could stand beside me.
As I helped my mother back into bed, Margaret stepped out, giving us a moment of privacy. My mother looked over her shoulder, her gaze landing on Ingrid, who was curled up on the couch sleeping, almost swallowed by my jacket.
“She’s adorable.” She smiled, and I felt a grin tug at my lips as she looked back at me. “And she’s softened you up, too… She’s been good for you.”
I didn’t even try to argue. I glanced back at the girl wearing my scent, and I nodded once.
“I know.”
My mother watched me for a moment, her expression shifting. Her gaze flicked toward the closed door, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “Does he know I’m awake?”
I didn’t need to ask who “he” was.
“No. The bastard is lucky I’m not coming after him.”
“Tristian—”
“He cut your medical support, the trust he put in my name. He was ready to pull the plug, Mom. Not just on the money. On you.”
“I know.” Her hand reached out to rub my shoulder, trying to soothe my growing tension. “Somewhere in the haze, I knew he’d left me…” she said, her voice laced with a weary sort of regret. She sighed heavily. “I’m sorry you had to carry it all alone.”
I shook my head. I would have burned the world down to keep her breathing. “I’d do it again. A hundred times.”
Her thumb brushed over my cheek now, her eyes shining with pride. “Then you’re already more of a man than he ever was.”