PROLOGUE

Two years ago…

"Father?" Sylvia asked quietly as she sat beside his bed.

She needed to know if he was awake and hungry, but she did not wish to disturb him from rest. It had been a long time since he had switched off, and the last thing she wanted to do was see him in pain once more.

Watching him writhe as the agony ricocheted through him, knowing that there was very little that she could do for him, was heart-breaking.

"Father, do you need anything?"

He did not answer. His thick, labored breaths suggested that he had drifted off, so this would be a moment to herself. Finally. Not that Sylvia was going to take this time to relax or enjoy herself. How could she even think about picking up a novel to read, or her crocheting to do, when her father was so pale?

She reached out and adjusted the covering draped over him, tucking it snugly around his delicate form. His skin felt icy to the touch, a stark contrast to the warmth he had always exuded in the past, the warmth that had given her the happiest childhood ever. It was as if the illness had drained not only his strength but also his very essence.

The vicarage they lived in was tranquil and beautiful, a safe haven in the countryside for Sylvia until recently. Now the quiet felt stifling, like it filled her lungs and made it hard for her to catch her breath. It taunted her and reminded her just how alone she really was. At two and twenty years of age, Sylvia had been considered an adult for a very long time now, but as her father withered away in front of her, she truly felt like she was ten years old again. The same age she was when her mother passed away.

At the time, Sylvia thought that was the worst thing that could happen to her. She had been so terrified of her world changing – which of course it had done – but this was a million times worse. If she did not have her father, then she would not have anyone. She had never anticipated being an orphan, but now it seemed like she was going to have to find a way to come to terms with the idea. Otherwise she would be ill prepared for what was likely to come.

She sighed to herself as the morning light softly illuminated the room, casting a warm glow on the simple, yet meaningful, items around her father's bed side, which were there to give him comfort as he suffered his unbearable illness.

Sylvia reached out and wrapped her fingers around the small, hand painted portrait of her mother. The moment caught in time was glorious. Her mother had been such a beautiful woman, with long wavy brunette hair and sparkling blue eyes that seemed to really see Sylvia, even through the delicate brush strokes. It captured the essence of her mother, exactly as Sylvia remembered her. Friendly and sweet with a laugh that seemed to light up any room that she was in.

Sylvia wanted to emulate her mother. It was all she wanted in her life. She would have loved nothing more than to be like that woman, but she did not know if she could ever be as angelic as her. As perfect in the eyes of the community, and as beloved by all.

Where her mother had always been a light in her life, her father was always a robust pillar of strength and wisdom, until now. Him lying frail and weary was horrible. His presence, which had always been a constant source of guidance, was fading, leaving Sylvia with a profound sense of impending loss. Her heart felt empty, her chest icy cold, she could hardly breathe as the weight of her father's illness pressed down on her shoulders.

Yet, amidst the despair, Sylvia knew she had to summon the strength to be there for him, just as he had always been there for her. She was all he had, and she wanted to honor that.

Gently placing the portrait back on the bedside table, Sylvia leaned closer to her father, studying his face for any sign of discomfort. His brows furrowed slightly, a silent indication of the pain he was enduring even in his sleep. Sylvia's heart clenched with the urge to alleviate his suffering, but she knew that some battles could not be fought with mere love and determination.

"Sylvia?" She jumped as his voice filled the room. It was quiet, but the impact his word had on Sylvia was monumental. "You are so strong."

Tears filled Sylvia's eyes. In this cocoon of their shared history and love, Sylvia knew that he was the reason she had any strength. His teachings, the way that he raised her, it was wonderful. She wanted to continue to make him proud, forever.

"Tha… thank you, Father," she just about managed to choke out. "You do not know how much those words mean to me. I appreciate it, so very much."

He reached out for her hand, and Sylvia took it. He was still weak, but he did his best to squeeze her, to let her know through silent communication that he was there for her. They had always been able to communicate without words, which was extremely useful now.

"I am proud of you." He rasped out with a gravely, thick tone. "I hope you have happiness in your life."

"Oh, Father, you do not need to talk like that," Sylvia insisted because his words chilled her to the bone. She did not wish for him to speak as if he did not have much time left.

"Do not neglect your happiness," he continued as if he had not heard her. "In your dedication to other people."

"I will not," Sylvia choked back. "I will be happy. But you do not need to worry about that. Let us just focus on you for the time being."

Her father grunted back, but did not give her any more words. It was as if he did not have the strength to get any more words out. Sylvia's heart sunk even further. The last thing that she wanted to do was have a strong sense of helplessness and hopelessness overcoming her, but it was creeping through her regardless.

How on earth was she going to get through this? Especially as it seemed like her father was slipping away. The chances of him improving were decreasing by the moment…

***

Sylvia had spent her days talking to her father about everything that she was now reflecting upon. Her father had instilled in her so many lessons of kindness, faith, and purpose. As she watched him gently slip away, Sylvia needed to focus on these lessons, to keep the grief from swallowing her up whole. She knew that her father would not want that. He would like her to forge her own path, honoring his legacy.

Every tear that Sylvia wiped away from her cheeks was for him. For how important he had been to her, and how important he was always going to be to her, no matter what happened today.

It truly seemed like there were only moments left, and Sylvia would not even call the doctor to come, because she knew that her father would much prefer for him to be just the two of them as he slipped to the other side.

"I will be everything you wish me to be, Father," Sylvia promised as she felt life sliding from him. "I will be the daughter you desire. No matter what challenges come my way, I will face them with grace and decorum. I will have a rational mind at all times, I will always act in the way that you have taught me to act." She sucked in a shaky breath, trying not to succumb wholly to the sadness just yet. "I will pursue my own identity and dreams. I will look for the sort of love that Mother and you shared, I will…"

Unfortunately at that moment, Sylvia became incapable of holding everything inside any longer. She let her head fall forwards and the sadness consume her. It was a relief to her, to know that her mother and father would be reunited after death, but she was not sure what she was supposed to do alone. She knew that she had noble family members on her mother's side of the family, but she did not know if they would accept her. Her mother had defied expectations by marrying a lowly vicar.

Perhaps she really was going to have to find a way to live life all by herself.

But she did not want to burden her father with this. Not during his last few moments of life, so instead she decided to squeeze his hand a little harder, and to keep reciting prayer for him so he would be comfortable as he finally lost the battle with his life…