Chapter 13
One year after my death, Sienna Cole coded in her hospital bed.
The infection had spread to her bloodstream. Her mechanical pump failed twice in twelve hours. The third time, the medical team couldn't bring her back.
She died at 3:47 AM on a Wednesday, alone in her room. No visitors. No family. Damian was behind bars. Her accomplice, Dr. Webb, was serving his own sentence in another facility. There was no one left who cared whether Sienna Cole lived or died.
I was there when it happened. I watched the monitors flatline. Watched the nurses stop their efforts. Watched them pull the sheet over her face with the same clinical efficiency that had been applied to my own body a year ago.
And then I saw her.
Sienna's spirit rose from her corpse—confused, disoriented, flickering like a dying bulb. Her spectral eyes darted around the room before landing on me.
For the first time since my death, someone could see me.
"Arabella?" Her voice trembled. "You... you're here?"
I said nothing.
"I'm dead, aren't I?" Sienna looked down at her covered body. "I'm actually dead."
Still, I said nothing. There was nothing to say. No confrontation that would change what had happened. No words that could fill the void where my life used to be.
Sienna's spirit began to fragment at the edges, dissolving like smoke in wind. Wherever she was going, it wasn't the same place I was.
"I'm sorry," she whispered as she faded. "For whatever it's worth—I'm sorry."
And then she was gone.
I stood alone in the empty hospital room. The machines had been turned off. The only sound was the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights overhead.
I thought her death would release something in me. That final piece of justice—the last villain punished—was supposed to set me free.
But I was still here. Still tethered. Still trapped between worlds.
Why?
I drifted to the prison. To Damian. He was in his cell, lying on his cot, staring at the ceiling with dead eyes. The guards had informed him of Sienna's death an hour ago. He'd shown no reaction.
But now, alone in the dark, he was whispering. The same words, over and over, like a broken recording.
"I'm sorry, Arabella. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
I stood over him and stared down at the man I'd once loved more than life itself. The man I'd cooked for. Cleaned for. Built my entire existence around. The man who'd repaid my devotion by cutting out my heart.
For the first time, I spoke to him—knowing full well he couldn't hear me.
"I don't forgive you," I said. "I will never forgive you. But I'm done watching you suffer. Watching you rot doesn't bring me back. It doesn't heal my parents. It doesn't give me back the years you stole."
I turned away from his cell.
"Goodbye, Damian."
The tether snapped.
I felt it—a physical release, like chains dissolving. Suddenly, I could move freely. Not toward the hospital, not toward the prison, not toward any of the places that had anchored me to my grief.
I went to my mother.
She was asleep in her facility bed, her face peaceful for once. I kissed her forehead—and I swear, she smiled in her sleep.
I went to my father.
He was at his desk, awake as always, staring at a photograph of the three of us from my college graduation. I wrapped my arms around him one final time.
"Thank you, Dad," I whispered. "Thank you for fighting for me."
He shivered slightly. Looked around. Then pressed his hand to his chest and closed his eyes.
"Goodnight, Elly," he murmured. "Sleep well, baby girl."
The infection had spread to her bloodstream. Her mechanical pump failed twice in twelve hours. The third time, the medical team couldn't bring her back.
She died at 3:47 AM on a Wednesday, alone in her room. No visitors. No family. Damian was behind bars. Her accomplice, Dr. Webb, was serving his own sentence in another facility. There was no one left who cared whether Sienna Cole lived or died.
I was there when it happened. I watched the monitors flatline. Watched the nurses stop their efforts. Watched them pull the sheet over her face with the same clinical efficiency that had been applied to my own body a year ago.
And then I saw her.
Sienna's spirit rose from her corpse—confused, disoriented, flickering like a dying bulb. Her spectral eyes darted around the room before landing on me.
For the first time since my death, someone could see me.
"Arabella?" Her voice trembled. "You... you're here?"
I said nothing.
"I'm dead, aren't I?" Sienna looked down at her covered body. "I'm actually dead."
Still, I said nothing. There was nothing to say. No confrontation that would change what had happened. No words that could fill the void where my life used to be.
Sienna's spirit began to fragment at the edges, dissolving like smoke in wind. Wherever she was going, it wasn't the same place I was.
"I'm sorry," she whispered as she faded. "For whatever it's worth—I'm sorry."
And then she was gone.
I stood alone in the empty hospital room. The machines had been turned off. The only sound was the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights overhead.
I thought her death would release something in me. That final piece of justice—the last villain punished—was supposed to set me free.
But I was still here. Still tethered. Still trapped between worlds.
Why?
I drifted to the prison. To Damian. He was in his cell, lying on his cot, staring at the ceiling with dead eyes. The guards had informed him of Sienna's death an hour ago. He'd shown no reaction.
But now, alone in the dark, he was whispering. The same words, over and over, like a broken recording.
"I'm sorry, Arabella. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
I stood over him and stared down at the man I'd once loved more than life itself. The man I'd cooked for. Cleaned for. Built my entire existence around. The man who'd repaid my devotion by cutting out my heart.
For the first time, I spoke to him—knowing full well he couldn't hear me.
"I don't forgive you," I said. "I will never forgive you. But I'm done watching you suffer. Watching you rot doesn't bring me back. It doesn't heal my parents. It doesn't give me back the years you stole."
I turned away from his cell.
"Goodbye, Damian."
The tether snapped.
I felt it—a physical release, like chains dissolving. Suddenly, I could move freely. Not toward the hospital, not toward the prison, not toward any of the places that had anchored me to my grief.
I went to my mother.
She was asleep in her facility bed, her face peaceful for once. I kissed her forehead—and I swear, she smiled in her sleep.
I went to my father.
He was at his desk, awake as always, staring at a photograph of the three of us from my college graduation. I wrapped my arms around him one final time.
"Thank you, Dad," I whispered. "Thank you for fighting for me."
He shivered slightly. Looked around. Then pressed his hand to his chest and closed his eyes.
"Goodnight, Elly," he murmured. "Sleep well, baby girl."