It Felt Like Dying
Melody sat on the wide window seat in the upstairs sitting room, knees drawn to her chest, a soft cashmere throw draped over her shoulders.
The morning drizzle tapped gently against the glass panes, blurring the garden into soft grays and greens.
Dawn light filtered through the clouds..
. pale, hesitant, like it wasn’t sure it was welcome.
She hadn’t slept.
Her eyes were heavy, red-rimmed, staring at the rain without really seeing it.
The events of last night played in a relentless loop behind her lids: Symphony’s frightened sobs behind the locked door, the way the little girl had pounded on the wood calling “Mommy? Mommy?” until her voice grew hoarse, Margaret’s quiet but firm insistence as she coaxed the child out with gentle words and carried her downstairs, Christian’s broken pleas in the rain, his voice cracking on her name as she slammed the door in his face.
She pressed a hand to her chest... right over her heart, as though she could physically hold the pieces together.
What had she done?
She had locked her own daughter in a room.
She had screamed at Christian... pushed him, hit him, told him he would never take Symphony again.
She had become the monster she had spent three years running from.
The woman she hated.
A soft clink of porcelain drifted up from the kitchen below... Margaret preparing breakfast, talking in low, soothing tones to Symphony. Melody could hear the occasional small laugh from her daughter, the sound muffled but unmistakable. It twisted the knife deeper.
She had wanted this so badly, her child under her roof, safe, loved, hers.
And the moment Symphony needed something she couldn’t give, she had broken.
Melody closed her eyes.
She saw Symphony’s tear-streaked face, the confusion in those big hazel eyes, the way her small voice had cracked when she said, “I want to go home.”
Home.
Not here.
Not with her.
With him.
With the man who had raised her, sung to her, held her through every nightmare while Melody was locked away, powerless.
Her fingers curled into the throw, knuckles white.
She had been so sure... sure that love would be enough, that time would heal everything, that once Symphony saw how much she was wanted here, she would stay.
But love wasn’t enough when it came with fear.
When it came with locked doors and shouting and a mother who lost control.
Tears slipped down her cheeks, silent, steady. She didn’t wipe them away.
She just sat there, watching the drizzle turn the garden into a watercolor painting, and let herself feel it all: the shame, the grief, the bone-deep regret.
She had hurt her daughter.
The one thing she had sworn she would never do.
Downstairs, Margaret’s voice floated up again.
“Another strawberry, sweetheart? They’re extra sweet today.”
Symphony’s small reply was too quiet to make out, but the tone was calmer. Safer.
Melody pressed her forehead to her knees.
She had to fix this.
Not with force. Not with locks. Not with anger.
She had to let go.
Even if it tore her apart.
Even if it meant driving Symphony back to the Holt mansion herself.
Even if it meant watching Christian take her daughter’s hand and walk away again.
Because keeping her here... scared, crying, wanting her father, would destroy her more than letting her go ever could.
Melody exhaled.
She wiped her face with the back of her hand.
Then she stood.
She tucked her hair behind her ears, and walked downstairs... slow, deliberate, every step heavier than the last.
Because today she would do the hardest thing she had ever done.
She would give her daughter back to the man she still couldn’t forgive.
Not because she wanted to.
But because she loved Symphony more than she hated Christian.
And love sometimes meant letting go.
Even when it felt like dying.
×××××××
Melody drove in silence, the wipers sweeping rhythmically across the windshield as the last traces of morning drizzle clung to the glass. Symphony sat quietly in her booster seat in the back, small hands folded in her lap, Lambie tucked under one arm.
The gates of the Holt mansion loomed ahead. Melody’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. She pulled into the circular drive and parked.
Symphony unbuckled herself before Melody could move, already reaching for the door handle.
“Home!” she said softly, more to herself than anyone.
Melody exhaled shakily, got out, and helped Symphony down. The little girl immediately took her hand and tugged her toward the front steps.
Symphony let go of Melody’s hand and ran inside, calling, “Daddy?”
Melody followed slowly, each step heavier than the last, through the familiar foyer, past the staircase, toward the master wing. She stopped in the doorway of Christian’s bedroom.
The curtains were still drawn, the room dim and cool.
Christian lay on his side under the duvet, fever-flushed, hair damp against his forehead, breathing shallow and labored.
He hadn’t changed out of the sweatpants and T-shirt he’d thrown on last night; the damp clothes from the rain were still piled on the floor.
Symphony climbed onto the bed carefully, small hands patting his cheek.
“Daddy… wake up…”
Christian stirred, eyes fluttering open. For a second he looked disoriented... fever-bright gaze unfocused, then he saw Symphony.
His face softened instantly.
“Princess…” His voice was hoarse, cracked from shouting in the rain. He reached for her, weak but desperate, pulling her small body against his chest. “You’re here…”
Symphony snuggled into him, arms around his neck.
“I missed you, Daddy.”
Christian buried his face in her curls, tears slipping free the moment he closed his eyes.
“I missed you too, baby. So much.”
He held her like she might disappear again, rocking her gently even as his body shook with fever and exhaustion.
Melody stood in the doorway, watching the scene.
The sight of them, father and daughter clinging to each other, tore something deep inside her chest.
Christian finally lifted his head, eyes finding hers across the room.
“Melody…”
She didn’t move closer.
She just stood there, arms wrapped around herself, tears already falling.
“I’m not mean…” she said suddenly, voice cracking. “I’m not selfish.” A whisper now. “I just wanted to love her.”
Christian watched her... sad, aching, fever-glazed eyes full of everything he couldn’t say.
Melody’s chin trembled.
“She’s yours, Christian.” The words felt like knives coming out. “I… I lost.”
She turned sharply, shoulders shaking, and walked away... down the hallway, toward the front door.
“Melody—”
Christian’s voice broke behind her... raw and desperate.
She didn’t stop.
She didn’t look back.
She pushed through the front door, out into the drizzle that had started again, and kept walking toward her car.
Melody got into the driver’s seat, closed the door, and pressed her forehead to the steering wheel.
And cried... deep, wrenching sobs that shook her whole body.
Because she had fought for three years to get her daughter back.
And now she had to let her go.
Again.
Because love meant putting Symphony’s happiness above her own pain.
Even when it felt like dying.
She started the engine.
And drove away.
Into the rain.
Alone.
×××××××
Melody stepped out of the elevator on the executive floor of Marshall Corp, still in the same cream sweater and jeans from the morning, coat slung over one arm.
Her face was pale, eyes distant, movements mechanical. She had driven straight from the Holt mansion, hadn’t even gone home to change, hadn’t answered Margaret’s worried texts, hadn’t allowed herself to process the quiet devastation of handing Symphony back to Christian.
Ryan was waiting near the reception desk, coffee in hand, casual smile ready.
“Hey, you’re late. Thought you were taking the day—” He stopped when he saw her face. “Melody?”
She didn’t answer. Just walked past him toward the long corridor leading to her office, heels clicking too fast, too hard.
Ryan frowned, set his coffee on the desk, and followed.
“You okay? You look like you haven’t slept. Did something happen with Symphony?”
Melody kept walking... silent, shoulders rigid.
Ryan matched her pace, concern sharpening his voice.
“Melody, talk to me. You’re scaring me a little.”
They passed the glass-walled conference rooms, the soft murmur of analysts and assistants fading behind them. The corridor narrowed, quieter now.
Then it happened.
Melody stopped abruptly, like someone had cut her strings.
Her Chanel purse slid from her shoulder, down her arm, to the crook of her elbow. It hung there for a second, then dropped to the floor with a soft thud.
Ryan froze.
“Melody?”
Before he could reach for her, her knees buckled.
She collapsed forward.
Ryan lunged, catching her under the arms just before her face hit the marble. Her weight sagged against him, head lolling back, eyes fluttering shut.
“Melody!”
He lowered her carefully to the floor, cradling her upper body against his chest, one arm supporting her head. Her breathing was shallow, rapid. Sweat beaded on her forehead despite the cool air.
“Melody? Hey, hey, stay with me.” He patted her cheek gently. “Can you hear me?”
Her eyelids fluttered. A weak moan escaped her lips.
Ryan looked up frantically.
“Someone call an ambulance!”
A junior assistant nearby gasped and ran toward the nearest desk.
Ryan kept one arm around Melody’s shoulders, the other pressing two fingers to her neck.
Pulse racing too fast.
“Melody,” he said again, softer, urgent. “Talk to me. What’s happening?”
Her lips moved, barely audible.
“Pressure…”
Ryan cursed under his breath.
He remembered the nifedipine tablets. She always carried them now.
He reached into her fallen purse, fingers fumbling until he found the small amber bottle. He shook one out, gently opened her mouth, and placed it under her tongue.
“Hold it there,” he murmured. “Let it dissolve. Breathe slow. I’ve got you.”
Melody’s breathing hitched, then steadied fractionally.
Ryan kept talking... low, calm, grounding.
“You’re okay. You’re safe. Just stay with me. Help’s coming.”
Assistants gathered at a respectful distance, one already on the phone with the ambulance.
Ryan held her steady, arm strong around her shoulders, other hand brushing damp hair from her face.
He looked down at her, pale, fragile in a way he’d never seen before, and felt something fierce and protective rise in his chest.
“You’re not doing this alone anymore,” he whispered, more to himself than to her. “Not today.”
He stayed right there holding her until the professionals arrived.
×××××××