When it was over, Dylan offered her nothing but a final, icy remark.

"I’m busy. I don’t have time to indulge your madness."

Then he turned and walked away.

The sky darkened beneath heavy storm clouds. Rain crashed down in merciless sheets, and his retreating figure slowly disappeared into the curtain of water, leaving Elise alone among the graves, abandoned once again by the man she had once trusted with her entire heart.

That was not rain.

It was every tear Elise had shed for her children over the past five years, falling from a heart that had never stopped mourning them.

How could she not resent him?

How could she not hate him?

The grief had long ago burrowed too deeply into her soul, carving wounds that never healed and leaving no room for forgiveness.

A woman’s clear, composed voice drifted through the darkness, reaching her in fragments as though carried from a distant shore.

"I told you from the beginning that I didn’t support this hypnosis treatment... selectively altering portions of her memory can only provide temporary relief... given her current condition, any further intervention would do more harm than good... I warned you before... I’m sorry, but I’ve reached the limits of what I can do. I have no better solution."

The voice faded in and out of focus, slipping through her consciousness like a distant echo.

On the large bed in the master bedroom, Elise remained motionless. Her eyes stayed closed while tears soaked her lashes and gathered at their trembling tips before sliding silently down her cheeks.

She wanted to open her eyes. She tried with all her strength.

Yet her eyelids felt impossibly heavy, as though weighed down by years of sorrow and heartbreak, refusing to obey her will.

The conversation continued somewhere nearby.

"Dr. Becker has a point. Maybe... maybe you should let this go."

"We’re so close. I can’t give up now."

The voices faded once more, dissolving into the darkness.

***

Morning arrived quietly.

A shaft of sunlight slipped through the gauzy curtains, spilling golden light across the room. Shadows retreated inch by inch as the bedroom gradually brightened, chasing away the remnants of night.

On the bed, Elise’s eyelashes suddenly fluttered.

Slowly, she finally opened her eyes.

The familiar ceiling came into view, and for a brief moment her thoughts stalled in a haze of confusion.

Then the memories returned.

Not all at once, but piece by piece. Like jagged shards of broken glass rising from deep water.

With every recollection, the warmth drained from her chest.

Her heart grew colder. It grew colder still.

She pushed herself upright just as the bedroom door opened.

Dylan stepped inside.

He was dressed in a black shirt, his expression severe and unreadable. There was something in the calmness of his face that suggested he had already known she was awake and had been waiting for this moment.

When their eyes met, he spoke in an even tone.

"Mrs. Lander made you a chicken breast soup. Would you rather come downstairs to eat, or should I have it brought up here?"

Elise stared at him, soaking in every single detail of his appearance.

She stared at his composed expression.

She stared at the effortless normalcy he wore as though nothing had happened.

As though their world had not already burned to ashes around them.

Without a word, she grabbed the clock from the bedside table and hurled it at him.

The clock struck his chest with a dull, heavy thud.

A faint grunt escaped him.

Then it crashed onto the floor. The sharp sound shattered the silence.

A heartbeat later, the clock shattered as well, fragments scattering across the hardwood like splintered pieces of time itself.

"Why wasn’t it you who died?"

Her scream ripped through the room with all the anguish she had buried for years.

Dylan’s breathing faltered.

He looked at her, at the hatred blazing in her eyes, and something dark and painful churned beneath his own.

For a moment, the carefully controlled mask he wore cracked around the edges.

"Do you hate me that much?"

"Yes." Her voice trembled with fury and grief. "I wish you would die right now."

The words landed between them like a death sentence.

Neither of them looked away.

Then she threw back the blanket and climbed out of bed.

She moved barefoot across the floor.

Without the slightest hesitation, she strode toward the door.

Dylan instinctively lifted a hand as though to stop her, but in the instant before his fingers could touch her, he froze.

His hand remained suspended in empty air.

After a long moment, he let it fall back to his side.

Elise brushed past him without sparing him a single glance and headed downstairs.

She descended the staircase quickly, her footsteps echoing through the silent house.

But when she reached the final step, she suddenly paused.

At the bottom of the staircase sat Mrs. Bennett in her wheelchair.

The elderly woman’s eyes were swollen and red, as though she had spent the entire night crying.

For several long moments, neither of them spoke. Their gazes met across the room, and a heavy silence settled between them.

Elise’s hands tightened into fists at her sides.

She was exhausted.

Exhausted from compromising. Exhausted from sacrificing. Exhausted from bending herself into impossible shapes for the sake of the Bennett family until she barely recognized herself anymore.

She did not want to yield again.

Not for Dylan. Not for anyone else.

Mrs. Bennett seemed to understand exactly what was passing through her mind.

Slowly, she lifted a trembling hand and beckoned gently.

"My child," she said softly, "come here to Grandma."

Elise looked at the elderly woman and pressed her lips together so tightly they nearly turned white.

Then she shook her head.

Mrs. Bennett raised her hand again.

This time, when she spoke, her voice broke beneath the weight of her sorrow.

"Be good, sweetheart. I’m not going to force you." Tears gathered in her eyes, spilling freely down her weathered cheeks. "Elise... Grandma only wants to hold you one last time."