Fractured Promises

Chapter 33: Shadows and Burdens

STANLEY

Stanley had always known that life came with responsibilities, but nothing could have prepared him for the crushing weight of stepping into his father's shoes.

Stanley stood at the edge of his father’s hospital bed, the sterile scent of antiseptic thick in the air.

Machines beeped in quiet rhythm, a stark contrast to the turmoil in his chest. His father's face, pale and still, was a harsh reminder of how fragile life could be, even for men who once seemed invincible.

"Dad," Stanley began, his voice low and rough. "I don't even know if you can hear me. But I guess it doesn't matter. I just... I need to talk."

He dragged a hand down his face, the exhaustion of weeks settling deeper into his bones.

"You always told me that being a Caldwell meant strength. Responsibility. But you never said how heavy it would be. How suffocating.

The day you slipped into that coma, everything fell on me. The company, the hospital, the decisions—all of it."

He paused, eyes tracing the faint lines of his father's face. "I'm drowning, Dad. And I don't know how to keep my head above water."

Stanley glanced down at the report folder clutched in his hand, filled with financial figures, strategic plans, and decisions he was now solely responsible for.

"The directors ask about you. Every meeting, they want to know if you’ll be back soon.

And I tell them what they need to hear—that you’re recovering, that you’ll return stronger than ever. But the truth? The truth is, I’m scared. Scared you won’t wake up. Scared that I’ll ruin everything you built."

His gaze flicked towards the window, the city skyline blurred beneath the weight of his thoughts. "Mum’s here too. Did you know? The same accident... she didn’t just lose you. Her kidneys failed. She’s fighting for her life, right down the hall, and I can’t do a damn thing to save her."

The words tore from him, ragged and painful.

"Ava put her education on hold just to help out. She's been incredible, but I see the fear in her eyes every time she looks at Mum. Every time she looks at you."

He paced the room, his movements restless. "And Lily... God, Lily. I had to walk away from her. She doesn’t know who I am. Who I really am. That I’m running this empire. I told myself it was for the best, that she deserved better than the chaos of my life. But the truth? I was scared. Scared I’d choose her over this." He gestured broadly.

"Over all of it. And maybe I would have. Maybe I still would."

Stanley’s throat tightened, but he forced himself to go on. "She deserves a man who can be present. Who isn’t buried under board meetings and financial reports. But if I stepped away—if I walked toward her and away from this—would I be failing you? Failing this family?"

He stopped at the edge of the bed again, staring down at his father. "You always seemed so strong. Like nothing could touch you. But maybe that’s just what I wanted to believe. Maybe you were drowning too, but you wore the mask better than me."

A sharp breath left him. "I miss you, Dad. I miss your advice. Your anger. Your expectations. Hell, I even miss the arguments. At least then, I wasn’t alone in this."

Silence answered him, but Stanley lingered, unwilling to leave.

"I’ll keep fighting. I’ll hold everything together, just like you would have. But I need you to come back. I need you to wake up. Tell me I’m doing this wrong or tell me I’m doing it right. Just… tell me something. Anything."

The machines hummed, indifferent. Stanley’s shoulders sagged, the weight of everything pressing harder. He reached out, fingers brushing lightly over his father’s motionless hand.

"I’m here," he whispered. "And I’ll keep holding on. Until you come back."

But as he walked out of the room, the echo of his footsteps sounded like a man walking into a battle he wasn’t sure he could win.

That night, Stanley sat in his office, staring blankly at the unopened bottle of whiskey on his desk. His hands trembled as he reached for it, hesitated, then clenched into fists.

No.

He couldn’t afford to fall apart.

But the pressure was unbearable. The company, the hospital, his mother, his father’s legacy, his own guilt—all of it was choking him.

His phone buzzed. A text from Lily. Unread. Just like the others.

Stanley exhaled sharply, his body suddenly too heavy for the chair. He pressed his palms against his eyes, forcing back the burn of unshed tears.

This is what being a Caldwell means.

Strength.

Responsibility.

But why did it feel like slowly drowning?

---

The office was quiet, the hum of computers and the rustle of papers the only sounds breaking the stillness. It was late, too late, but the proposal wouldn’t write itself. Stanley sat at his desk, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, eyes tired but focused.

Vanessa, ever efficient, perched on the edge of her chair across from him. Her fingers flew over her laptop, her brow furrowed in concentration. Stanley glanced up, noting the shadows under her eyes, the way her hair had slipped from its tight bun.

“You need a break,” he said, standing. “I’ll grab us some food.”

Vanessa blinked, surprised. “You don’t have to—”

“I insist.” His smile was brief but genuine. “Anything in particular?”

She shook her head, her voice soft. “Surprise me.”

As he stepped out, Vanessa watched him go, her mind wandering. She imagined a different setting—a quiet, dimly lit restaurant. Stanley’s suit jacket draped over the back of his chair, his smile softer, easier. She pictured his hand reaching across the table, fingers brushing hers, laughter spilling between them like shared secrets.

The thought startled her, a flush creeping into her cheeks. She shook it off, diving back into work. Fantasies were dangerous. Foolish.