30 Days To Become His Queen

The rain didn't care that Silvia was there. It just kept falling. Standing alone in the cemetery, mud swallowed the heels of her black dress. No umbrella. She didn't attempt to wipe away the rain, or the tears. Just a single white lily, his favorite in her hands, she was facing a headstone so new the dirt still felt soft. DANIEL AMORE HAYES Beloved Father The last thing she actually said to him? Stop calling. She was busy. Whatever he wanted could wait, there was a deadline, he never got that her life didn’t just pause for a phone call. She thought it could wait. "I'm sorry." The words vanished into the storm. Louder now, "Dad, I'm so sorry." Silence. Death has this way of sticking you with all your half-finished arguments and leaving you holding just your own side. He called four times that day. Watching his name flash on her phone, each time letting it ring out. She was working, then tired. Told herself later in the morning. Morning came. He didn’t. Collapsed in his kitchen, trying to reach a glass of water. “Heart,” the doctor said. Silvia knew better. “Don't lose yourself to work.” He always told her. "You were right," pressing her palm against the stone. "About everything and I never told you. And now" Her voice cracked and she stopped, allowing the rest to stay inside. "I don’t know how to do this." Rain filled the empty space. Her eyes located the grave next to it. Older. Worn. Name she’d known her whole life but never the face. ELEANOR ROSE HAYES Mother. Gone Too Soon. "Take care of him," saying softly. Talking to her mother always felt steadier, strange as it was. "He forgets to eat when no one’s watching. Hates silence when he sleeps. Just be there, however that works out wherever you are." She tucked the lily between the two graves. One last look at her dad’s name. Then she left, faster before losing her nerve. The red light at Crescent and Fifth caught her. She sat with wipers beating, city lights melting on the wet glass, everything orange and blurred. Her hands loose on the wheel, mind still back at the graveyard. Her phone vibrated. Aunt Rita. She waited a few seconds before answering. "Where were you?" Right to it no hello, just accusation. "The burial was this morning, Silvia. This morning." "I had work." Truth was, she sat outside the cemetery gates, watching strangers carry her father's coffin, unable to move. "It couldn’t wait." "Work." The word spat back at her. "Your father is on the ground and you talk about work." "I went tonight. I said goodbye." The silence felt heavy. Like Rita was winding up for worse. "You know what you are?A burden. Your mother died for you and your father worried himself into the grave and you couldn’t give him one morning" "Goodnight, Aunt Rita." "Don’t you dare…" She hung up. Phone down. Eyes on the red light. Your mother died bringing you into this world. That version of herself already heard this some many times. Some nights she believed it: that she was born costing, always too much, always a debt. Not tonight. Tonight, exhaustion crept in her body. Green light. She turned the key. Nothing. She tried again. One sputter, then silence. "Come on." She slapped the wheel. "Not tonight." Still nothing. The intersection sat empty. Rain hammered the roof. Just her, a dead car, and her body running on fumes. Then a horn ripped through the night. Jerking her head towards the left. Truck headlights blazed. Coming way too fast. She had no chance to scream as something enormous slammed into the driver's side. The seatbelt became tight around her chest. The road was above her, the sky was below as her head found the door frame. Stillness. Her eyes cracked open, glass scattered under streetlights, blood pooling hers. Then the pain came. Sharp. Suddenly. Everywhere. Her body had given her a few seconds of mercy, now it was taking them back Someone outside yelled, "Oh god, there’s someone in there!" Feet splashed through puddles. Rain poured in through the broken window, cold and sharp on her skin. She thought about her father’s grave once last time, probably meeting him soon. The sounds of sirens, red and blue lights flickered through her blurred vision as she clung to them. The metals of the car shifted aside. Voices calm, practiced: "Can you hear me, stay with me, what’s your name?" She heard everything. Answered nothing. They pulled her out, into the rain, then away from it. Everything was a blur: lights, ceilings, she felt like falling asleep but in reverse, softer and softer until there was almost nothing left. She could still hear faint voices. "BP dropping." "OR two, we’re coming." "Stay with us." Cold air, antiseptic smell. Fingers at her pulse. "She’s losing too much blood." "Move. Move." People rushed around her. Cold hands at her arm. Then, little by little, the voices changed. Not a clean shift, more like one station fading out as another faded in, tangled up in the middle. "Her pressure is" "Fetch the physician." "Losing her." "She breathes, still breathing." "Bring warm water. She will wake soon." The voices grew thin. She tried to grab them but they drifted like dreams right at the edge of waking. Now it's warm. Something soft underneath, nothing like a hospital table. The smell is different as well. Her eyes opened slowly. The scent: wood, herbs. Heavy bed under her, deep enough to swallow her. Tall posts wrapped in dark fabric. She stared for a while not fully grasping her environment. She turned her head. The ceiling’s made from stone. Walls closed in around her, tapestries hanging so long that their colors had faded and bled together. The fire in the hearth crackled softly, sending a warm glow. Wind slipped through an iron-framed window where glass should have been bringing in the cool night air mixed with the scent of something green, something alive out there in the dark. Strange. Nothing made sense. None of it belonged to her. She looked at her hands. Same hands. She wore a different sleeve. Long white linen, a nightgown never owned. Across the room, a heavy oak door half-open. Footsteps behind. Her mouth finally worked. "Where am I?”