Cold.
Lifeless.
Gone.
And when my mother steps into the waiting room at sunrise and says the words we’ve been dying to hear, that our father made it out of his surgery just fine and that he’s going to live, I shatter. Completely.
My throat closes.
My vision blurs.
And something inside me breaks free with a force that nearly knocks me over.
“Stella!” someone calls out behind me, but I’m already running. Through the hospital corridors. Past the rooms. Past the chaos.
I need out.
Out of this place.
Out of this coffin of fear.
Out of this reminder that life can be taken in a single heartbeat.
When the spring sun hits my face, I collapse to my knees outside, sobbing into my hands, utterly unprepared for the truth that has finally caught up to me.
I love him.
God help me, I love him so much it might actually kill me.
“Piccolina,” my mother whispers, dropping beside me and pulling her arms around my shaking shoulders. She lifts me gently from the ground, holding me like she did when I was a child. “Tell me what’s wrong, Stella. Tell me so I can ease your pain.”
“You can’t,” I sob. “No one can. I’m doomed,Mammá. Ruined. And I don’t know how to stop being afraid.”
“Afraid of what, sweet girl? Didn’t you hear? Your father is going to be just fine.”
But I shake my head so violently it makes me dizzy, trying to explain but the words won’t come, only broken sounds and gasping breaths.
My mother guides me to a bench across from the hospital doors, her own eyes bright with tears at the sight of me coming undone like this.
“Let me help you, Stella,” she whispers, brushing my hair back with trembling fingers. “Let me ease this suffering, my sweet girl.”
I pull away just enough to look at my mother, and in that moment I realize I will never be as strong as she is. Here she is, heart always exposed, loving not one but three men who walk into danger every single day. And she still smiles. She still loves. She still breathes through the fear.
“I can’t do it,” I choke out. “I’m not that strong. I’m weak,Mammá. I’m so weak. I’ll never be as strong as you.” My tears soak through her shirt, but she only holds me tighter, her arms wrapping around me like a shield against the world.
But she can’t protect my heart from this.
Only I can.
Only I can keep such pain away.
“Stella?”
I swear I hear him before I even see him, like my pain somehow summoned him out of thin air.
“Mr. Petrov,” my mother says, her voice hoarse from unshed tears and frayed at the edges. Seeing me like this hurts her too, maybe almost as much as it hurts me.
“I… I…” Kirill stammers, and when I lift my head, his eyes are filled with raw worry. “Is Vincent alright? Did he—”
