Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Ophelia

Of all the terrifying things I’ve done in my life, this might be the hardest. The one that makes my heart pound like it’s ready to explode out of my chest. I’ve faced loss before. I’ve stared down countless fears, pulled myself out of dark places I thought I’d never escape.

But this . . . this is different.

This is walking into a room where the past isn’t just a memory. It’s real. The man who died years ago is alive, breathing, waiting for me to . . . what? What is he expecting from me? No one told me. They just called and said it was urgent, that I had to come, that it was my responsibility as his guardian. But beyond that, nothing. No explanation. No details about how, after so many years, he’s suddenly awake.

My mind spins, desperately searching for answers that don’t exist. I wish someone would tell me why I was called after all this time, why they left me in the dark for so long, what exactly I’m supposed to do now. Guardian. The word feels cold, distant. But nothing about this feels distant. This feels like stepping into a nightmare I can’t wake up from. No hiding from it, no running away.

I stare at the door, heart pounding, my palms clammy, my knees ready to buckle. How can I be more afraid of something I once dreamed of with all my heart? Because if he’s really here, awake, then everything changes. Every piece of my life I thought I’d finally put back together . . . it all feels like it’s crumbling, slipping away before I’ve even crossed the threshold.

A warm hand touches mine, bringing me back, and I turn to find Haydn watching me, his gaze calm and steady, his expression filled with the kind of patience and strength I’m struggling to find in myself. He moves closer, and without a word, he wraps me in his arms, pulling me close against his chest. His heartbeat is steady, soothing, a rhythm that anchors me as I stand here on the brink of something I can barely process.

“It’s going to be okay,” he whispers, his voice a soft, comforting murmur. “Whatever happens in there . . . I’m here. I’m right here, Pia.” He pulls back slightly, lifting his hand to my cheek, his thumb brushing gently over my skin.

My throat tightens, and I can feel tears prickling at the corners of my eyes as I look up at him. “Thank you,” I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper. He catches a tear with his thumb before it has a chance to fall, his touch light and grounding. Then he leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead, warm and lingering, letting the moment settle between us.

And then, softly, he dips his head to kiss me fully, a kiss that feels like a promise—like he’s telling me that no matter what’s waiting on the other side of that door, he’ll be here, holding me through it. I clutch his shirt, leaning into him, letting his warmth seep into me.

When he pulls back, he lets his forehead rest against mine for a moment, his hands still cradling me like he’s not ready to let go just yet. “I love you,” he whispers, so gently it fills me up, helping me feel a little stronger, a little more certain.

I take a breath, my fingers lingering on his for one last moment before I turn back to face the door. “I love you too,” I say, voice quiet but full of everything I feel.

With one final squeeze of his hand, I release him, reach for the handle, and step inside. For a second, everything in me freezes. My lungs refuse to draw air, my mind scrambling to make sense of what my eyes are seeing. There he is, the man I thought was gone forever, the man I mourned, the man I buried in some quiet part of myself where I thought he’d stay—safe, untouchable, a memory I’d learn to live with.