C86 All That Matters

Annabelle paced the narrow stretch of the hospital corridor, her footsteps muted by the polished floor.

The fluorescent lighting overhead gave the space a sterile quality, the stark white walls reflecting the cold, clinical glow.

She clutched her sweater closer to her body, her fingers trembling slightly as they curled into the soft fabric.

Though flimsy, the grey material felt like a shield against the world pressing in around her.

Since Dante left, an uneasy restlessness had taken root deep in her chest, thrumming with every beat of her heart.

She told herself it was a relief.

That she had done the right thing.

Men were unreliable creatures, waiting for the perfect moment to let you down.

Her father had been the first.

He walked out, leaving a gaping void in her mother’s life that no one could ever fill.

And Tad?

Tad was a whole different breed of treachery.

He’d ruined her, broken her mother, and left her to rot in her misery.

And now, Dante… Dante, with his dark, brooding eyes and intense presence, had proven to be no different.

Annabelle paused before a window, gazing out at the lights glimmering in the distance.

Her reflection stared back at her, pale and weary as she tugged at her loose ponytail that had begun to unravel.

She looked like a ghost of herself.

Her mother had only just awakened when Annabelle arrived that evening.

Yet the older woman’s first words were a weak, pitiful inquiry about Tad.

Tad, of all people.

Annabelle had swallowed the bile that rose in her throat, managing only a terse reply.

She had tried to press the nurse for details earlier.

Just to know what to prepare for, she had asked if anyone had visited her mother before she arrived.

But the nurse had shaken her head, her expression a mixture of pity and professionalism. “No one except the neighbours who brought her in. She’s been unconscious since her admission.”

Annabelle’s fingers tightened around the windowsill as her knuckles whitened.

It was hard to pity Mauve when she wouldn’t even name her abuser.

The bitterness burned her throat like acid as she thought about her mother’s desperate, misguided loyalty.

Annabelle closed her eyes as the faint hum of the hospital’s air conditioning filled the silence. She had spent years resenting Mauve.

But now, as she stared at her mother’s broken body lying motionless in that hospital bed, pity was

That, and a sharp, searing anger.

She couldn’t help but think of Dante.

The way his dark eyes had softened when she told him to leave.

She hated how something inside her had hoped he wouldn’t listen.

She couldn’t believe she somehow had wanted him to stay and fight for her.

To claim her the way he always seemed to.

But he’d left.

And even though she knew she should feel triumphant, instead, her chest ached with a hollow sense of loss.

Annabelle forced herself to take a deep breath, releasing the tension in her shoulders.

She wouldn’t let herself dwell on Dante any longer.

He was just another man in a long line of disappointments.

“I didn’t even thank him for bringing us here and for everything he did for us,” she thought suddenly.

When Annabelle finally stepped outside the hospital room, the air in the corridor felt cooler.

She had taken her time, hoping to avoid seeing Dante because she was not she could handle another confrontation with him at that moment if he had not truly left.

But as her gaze swept the hallway, she found no trace of him.

She didn’t want to ask any of his men that she saw standing in the corridor and outside the hospital.

Still, one of them, a tall, broad-shouldered man in a black suit, stepped forward.

“Mr. Cazador has left,” he informed her. “But we’ll remain here to ensure your safety until you’re ready to leave Stoneraine.”

Annabelle said nothing, her expression guarded.

She merely nodded and turned back toward the room.

She didn’t want to show her relief, but she was more than grateful that he didn’t take his men with him.

Later, a tray of food was brought to her.

She opened it to see a steaming butter chicken that filled the room with the tantalizing scent of spices and roasted vegetables.

Annabelle’s stomach growled in protest as she eyed the meal, her appetite reawakening despite the emotional storm raging within her.

The sound of hurried footsteps drew her attention to the door.

Pamela Wiener entered with Cathy while one of Dante’s men trailed behind.

Cathy’s face lit up the moment she saw her sister.

“Anna!” she cried, rushing forward.

Annabelle pulled her sister into a tight embrace as she buried her face in Cathy’s dark curls.

“Are you okay?” Annabelle asked softly, brushing a strand of hair from Cathy’s face.

“I’m fine,” Cathy assured her. Her gaze shifted to the bed where Mauve lay. “Is she… is she awake?”

Annabelle hesitated, then nodded. “She’s awake now.”

Cathy approached the bed cautiously.

Her small body looked even smaller in the oversized hoodie she wore. Mauve stirred, her eyes fluttering open as Cathy reached for her hand.

“Mom,” Cathy whispered.

Mauve’s lips curved into a faint, tired smile. “Cathy,” she rasped.

Annabelle’s chest tightened as she watched them.

Despite everything, despite the anger and frustration she felt towards Mauve; there was something undeniably tender about this moment.

That night, for the first time in a long while, they sat together as a family.

The upgraded hospital room had a small dining area, and Annabelle helped Cathy set the table with the food that had been brought for them.

Mauve sat propped up in bed, her frailty more evident than ever.

Yet there was a glimmer of life in her eyes as she watched her daughters fuss over the meal.

“It smells wonderful,” Mauve murmured.

Annabelle offered a small smile, her first genuine one in what felt like days. “Let’s see if it tastes as good as it smells.”

They ate quietly, the clink of utensils against plates filling the room.

For a brief moment, Annabelle allowed herself to believe in this fragile peace and fleeting sense of normalcy.

But her mind kept wandering. Back to Dante.

She pictured him standing in the doorway with his intense gaze piercing through her defences.

She hated how vividly she could recall the warmth of his touch, the way his presence seemed to fill every corner of the room.

Annabelle forced herself to focus on the present.

She focused on Cathy’s laughter she told her mother a story that Maria had told her.

On Mauve’s soft, raspy chuckles.

“This is what matters” she reminded herself. “This is all that matters.”