Chapter 6: Never Letting Go
932 Words
The sound of shoes clicking against the linoleum snaps her out of it.
She looks up.
Dael stands at the end of the hallway, coat draped over one arm, expression unreadable. In his other hand, he holds a crisp white envelope.
Her breath hitches.
The contract.
He doesn’t speak. Just stands there, waiting. Distant. Composed.
In this moment, she realizes that whatever choice she makes tonight, there would be no going back. Her life would be split into before and after. No middle ground. No undoing it.
~~~
The pen feels heavier than it should. The contract trembles slightly in her grip from the weight of everything it means.
Across her, Dael watches without expression. His face is impeccably handsome, yet carved from ice. His jaw is locked, gaze unreadable. He has said nothing since handing her the papers. Not a warning. Not a comforting word to make it easier.
She stares at the signature line.
One stroke. That is all.
One stroke and her life would no longer be hers.
Her chest tightens. The air feels too thick. Wrong.
She thinks of Elias.
Of his small hand in hers when he was six and scared of the dark.
Of his laugh before the machines and wires and quiet nurses who avoided her eyes.
She thinks of the promise she made when their mother died: that she’d always protect him. Always.
Her fingers hovers above the page.
Her pulse roars in her ears.
What if this ruins her? What if she becomes someone she doesn’t recognize? What if he —
"If you're going to back out," Dael says suddenly, his voice sharp and ice-cold, "do it now."
Her hand jolts slightly.
She glances up at him. There is no challenge in his eyes. No emotion at all. Just cold finality.
She presses the pen to paper.
And signs.
The moment the ink settles, the air shifts. Like the room itself has exhaled something it had been holding in.
Dael steps forward without hesitation. He takes the contract from her hands, their fingers brushing folds it once, and slips it into his inner coat pocket like it is a sealed fate.
"Congratulations," he says flatly. "You're now my wife."
She looks up at him.
But the man she sees standing here isn’t the same one who’d helped her save her brother a few hours ago. Something in him has switched off. Or is it on?
He turns on his heel, but not before saying: “You have this morning and afternoon with your brother. I’ll pick you up at eight pm.”
~~~
Elias looks fragile in the hospital bed, like a clam that someone has poured out its pearls and left the shell behind.
His skin is pale, eyes half-lidded beneath dark lashes, an ivy hooked to his arm. There is a steady blip of machines beside his bed: soft green lines blinking across a small monitor.
When Elara enters, he turns his head slightly, a slow, careful movement. "Ellie...?"
His voice rasps out of a throat gone dry. Still, he smiles. He always smiles for her.
She moves to his side, brushing sweat-damp hair from his forehead. "Hey, stubborn boy. You scared me."
He tries to lift his hand, but winces.
She takes it gently and he blinks, the faintest chuckle escaping his lips. "You didn’t leave."
"Of course not."
They fall into silence, her fingers curled around his. There are tubes and wires and machines, but all she sees is her little brother’s face. The one she’s raised, protected, given everything for. The boy who always looks at her like she is infallible.
"The nurses… they said they would soon prep me for surgery.” He pauses, eyes narrowing. “What did you do, Elara?"
She holds his hand tighter. "I did what I had to."
He exhales, slow and rough. "Tell me."
A tear slips from the corner of her eye and she turns her head quickly, pretending to look at the monitor.
"I just hate that I won’t be here to watch you get better," she whispers.
He frowns. "You’re leaving?"
"Not by choice."
His hand squeezes hers. "Ellie, you didn’t... Please tell me you didn’t trade yourself for my life."
She smiles at him. Or tries to. It cracks like glass.
Elias looks away now, jaw tight, throat working. "You always do this… give too much away."
"It’s who I am."
His jaw tightens, memories of the skeletons in their cupboard swimming into his head.
"You remember back then," he murmurs. “After Mom died. When we… ” He doesn't finish.
Elara’s hands freeze.
“Sometimes I still hear it,” He starts again, gaze distant. “That night. Your breathing. How fast it was.”
She swallows. “Don’t.”
“I just—” His voice cracks. “You never talk about it.”
“What’s there to say?” she whispers.
Elias looks away. “Do you ever wonder what would’ve happened if… if you hadn’t done it?”
“Every day.”
He turns back to her. “And if you could undo it?”
She hesitates. Then shakes her head.
“No,” she says.
He nods slowly. “I still remember the blood, El—”
Elara closes her eyes. “That’s enough.”
A silence settles between them.
She presses her forehead against his for one fleeting second, memorizing the heat of his skin, the rhythm of his breath, never wanting to let go.
The memories of her past transgressions barge into her mind too. Never wanting to let go.
- Writer
