Chapter 419
[ 501 words ]
Chapter 419:
Hours passed. Finally, her eyelashes fluttered. She opened her eyes, staring in confusion at the unfamiliar, ornate ceiling. Then memory returned, crashing down on her like a physical weight.
“Mom…” she whispered, the sound a raw ache.
The grief hit her not as a thought, but as a violent, physical wave of nausea. She shot upright, her hand flying to her mouth as her stomach convulsed. She gagged, a dry, painful retching that produced nothing.
Jarrod was instantly there, holding a wastebasket with his good hand, his presence steadying her.
She collapsed back against the pillows, weak and trembling. When the spasm passed, she grabbed his arm, her eyes wild with a desperate, singular need.
J𝗈і𝗻 𝗼𝘂𝗋 𝘤𝗈𝘮𝗺uո𝗶t𝘺 𝘰𝘯 𝗀𝗮l𝗻𝗼𝘷е𝗅𝘀.сom
“Take me back,” she pleaded, her voice a ragged whisper. “Please… take me to my mom.”
It was the only thought in her head. She had to go back.
Jarrod looked at her, at the raw, desperate plea in her eyes. Every rational part of his brain screamed that she needed rest, sedation, a quiet room. But he saw the truth: denying her this would be a cruelty she couldn’t bear.
He smoothed the hair back from her forehead with his uninjured right hand, careful not to jostle his left arm, which remained heavily bandaged. “Okay,” he said, his voice soft. “I’ll take you. But you have to promise me, just for a little while.”
Her body was too weak to walk. He signaled for the waiting security team, who helped steady her as they made their way to the car.
K.C. Bell had worked with terrifying efficiency. A private, discreet funeral home had been secured. Vivian was laid out in a simple, open casket lined with white satin. She looked peaceful, as if she were only sleeping.
Jarrod supported Caroline as she shuffled toward the casket, his steady presence the only thing keeping her upright. Her legs felt like they were filled with sand.
She didn’t cry. She reached out a trembling hand and laid it on her mother’s cheek. The skin was cold, waxy. She began to stroke her mother’s face, a gentle, repetitive motion, her eyes vacant and unfocused. She had retreated somewhere deep inside herself, a place no one could reach.
Jarrod stood behind her, a silent, unmoving statue, giving her the space she needed while bracing his injured side to manage the throbbing in his hand.
Brenna and other friends arrived. They tried to speak to her, to offer condolences, but their words bounced off the wall of her catatonic grief. She gave no sign she had heard them. They looked at Jarrod with worried eyes, and he just gave a slight shake of his head. Let her be.
An hour passed. Then two. The sky outside darkened to a deep, starless black.
Caroline hadn’t moved. She hadn’t eaten, hadn’t had a sip of water. She just stood there, stroking her mother’s face, as if she intended to stay until she turned to stone beside her.
Jarrod knew this had to stop. This wasn’t grieving; it was a slow, quiet act of self-destruction.
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