C143 Seen And Loved

Annabelle stared out of the window as the car wound its way back to the estate.

The early morning sun cast a deceptively serene glow over Acadia, painting the city in soft, golden hues.

Her gaze, however, was distant, her thoughts trapped in the grim events of the past twenty-four hours.

Cathy sat beside her, leaning against her arm, still drowsy from the residual effects of the laudanum.

Dante drove in silence, his jaw set, his hands gripping the steering wheel with a force that made his knuckles stand out starkly against his skin.

When they arrived, Annabelle’s heart tightened.

The estate looked untouched, as if the chaos of yesterday had been nothing but a fevered nightmare.

The gates stood tall and unyielding, the manicured lawns pristine, and not a single sign of the attack remained.

Yet everything inside her felt irrevocably changed.

She stepped out of the car with Cathy, who clung to her hand.

Dante rounded the vehicle and motioned for one of his men to take Cathy inside.

Annabelle didn’t argue.

Cathy gave her a questioning look but allowed herself to be led away.

Annabelle turned to Dante. “Thank you for... taking care of her,” she said quietly, her voice thin and her gratitude thick with exhaustion.

Dante nodded, his eyes softening for a fraction of a second. “You need rest too, Annabelle,” he said, his voice low and steady. “We’ll talk when you’re ready."

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she wandered toward the house, her legs heavy and her chest constricted with unprocessed grief and confusion.

What was her ... dad doing there at that time?

Did he know about the attacks and everything else?

And why...why did he have to get himself killed?

Why now?!

***********

That evening, Annabelle made the difficult call to her mother.

She sat cross-legged on her bed, the phone trembling in her hand.

When Mauve picked up, her voice was faint, and Annabelle almost lost her nerve.

“Mum,” she began, her voice cracking slightly. “I have something to tell you.”

There was a pause, then a cautious, “What is it?”

“It’s about Dad.” Annabelle swallowed the lump in her throat. “He... he’s gone.”

Silence.

“What do you mean, ‘gone’?” Mauve’s voice was sharp, a mixture of confusion and fear.

Annabelle gripped the phone tighter. “He’s dead, Mum.”

Mauve’s sharp intake of breath was like a knife slicing through Annabelle’s heart. “How? Annabelle, was it... Did you... did your man killed him?”

Annabelle flinched at the implication. “No, Mum,” she said firmly, her voice rising. “It wasn’t because of Dante. He... Dad died protecting Cathy and me. He saved us.”

Another long silence.

Then, in a voice so quiet Annabelle almost didn’t hear it, Mauve said, “He used to be a good man. He made mistakes, but he was good once.”

Annabelle’s grip on the phone loosened as she leaned back against the headboard. “He was, Mum,” she murmured, surprising herself with the admission. “He saved us. He... he died a hero.”

Mauve began to cry, soft, heart-wrenching sobs that made Annabelle’s chest ache. “I should’ve forgiven him,” Mauve whispered between tears. “I should’ve...”

“Mum, don’t,” Annabelle interjected gently. “You couldn’t have known. None of us could've."

Mauve cried for what felt like an eternity, and Annabelle stayed on the line, listening, her own tears silent but steady.

******

In the days that followed, Annabelle moved through life in a haze.

Dante handled everything.

Arranging for Patrick’s body to be taken to the morgue.

Ensuring Mauve could decide on the burial arrangements when she was ready.

He gave Annabelle space but was always there, lingering just at the edge of her awareness.

At night, he came to her room and held her as she drifted into a restless sleep.

His presence was steadyand his silence comforting.

He didn’t push her to talk, and she was grateful for that.

One night, Annabelle lay awake in his arms, staring at the ceiling.

The weight of everything pressed down on her chest, but for the first time in days, it didn’t feel suffocating.

She turned to Dante, her hand resting on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

“Dante,” she whispered.

He looked down at her, his dark eyes unreadable in the dim light.

“I’m not sure I like you most of the time,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “But... I think I love you.”

Dante’s breath hitched, his hand tightening around her waist.

For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze searching hers as if trying to decipher the truth behind her words.

Then, slowly, he leaned down and kissed her.

It was soft, tender, and unhurried, a stark contrast to the chaos that had consumed their lives.

Their movements were languid, filled with an unspoken need to find solace in each other.

Annabelle felt herself let go, her barriers crumbling as she surrendered to the quiet intensity of their connection.

For the first time in a long time, she felt grounded.

She felt seen. She felt loved.

And as she drifted to sleep in Dante’s arms, she thought that maybe, just maybe, she could find peace amidst the storm.