Chapter 140
“Hazel.” His voice was warm, if slightly rough. “I’m sorry for not responding sooner.
Despite everything, I laughed. “You didn’t.”
I ended the call just as my family emerged from the room. Harrison looked even more skeletal in the harsh daylight, supported between Eleanor and Ethan. The driver I’d arranged helped them into the car.
The silence in the dingy motel room was suffocating. I stared at the pathetic figures before me–my once–powerful father withering on a cheap bed, and my stepmother hovering nearby, her desperation palpable.
Chapter 140 – Cemetery Before Care: Hazel’s Gambit
“A stop?” Eleanor questioned, suspicion clouding her features.
Eleanor’s hand gripped my arm. “You’ve made your point,” she hissed. “Can we go to the hospital now?”
Harrison coughed violently, his body convulsing with the effort. “Hazel, please,” he wheezed after the fit subsided. “I know I wasn’t the father you deserved-”
“First to the cemetery, then to the hospital,” I said calmly.
A movement at the door caught my attention. Ethan, my half–brother, slipped into the
room,
downcast. He’d grown taller since I’d last seen him, lankier, with the haunted look of someone who’d seen their privileged world collapse.
his eyes
While they prepared Harrison, I stepped outside and made a quick call to arrange separate cars. I wasn’t about to share a ride with them. As I waited in the parking lot, my phone rang.
“What did you say at this dinner?” I asked.
I laughed, the sound sharp and jarring in the small room. “Help? That’s rich coming from you.”
“The first night I was drunk. The next day I was dealing with a hangover and fallou from some things I said while intoxicated. And then…” He paused. “I was embarrassed. It’s not an excuse, but an explanation.”
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“Lillian,” he whispered, his voice breaking.
Damien’s name flashed on the screen.
They all turned to look at the grave marker:
“I’ll arrange transportation to the hospital,” I said finally.
“Unfortunately, I did. It’s taken some diplomatic maneuvering to smooth things over.
Eleanor looked around. “Aren’t you coming with us?”
My heart skipped. After days of silence, finally. I nearly fumbled the phone in my
to answer.
Eleanor shifted uncomfortably. Ethan looked away.
Their faces lit up with hope–a hope I took pleasure in crushing.
haste
“I’m dealing with family matters right now,” I told Damien. “My father’s been released from prison, and he’s ill.”
“Well?” Eleanor pressed, breaking the silence. “Are you going to help your father or
not?”
“For three days?” I couldn’t keep the skepticism from
my voice.
“We tried contacting your aunt first,” Ethan muttered, not meeting my eyes. “She wouldn’t even let us through the door.”
“I know.” He sighed. “I had a business dinner that turned into a drinking session with some military officials. I was… not in a state to talk.”
The words warmed me, even as a part of me remained guarded. “I missed you too.”
I shook her off. “Not yet. I want to hear what he has to say to her. After all, he never bothered to visit her when she was alive.”
I looked down at my father’s crumpled form by my mother’s grave and made my decision.
I surveyed the room–the peeling wallpaper, the stained carpet, the lingering smell of disinfectant poorly masking the stench of illness and decay. This was justice of a s but the satisfaction I’d expected to feel was surprisingly hollow.
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I gestured to the simple headstone before us, “I thought Father should pay his respects before seeking treatment for himself.”
The autumn wind picked up, sending dead leaves skittering across the graves around us. Harrison’s shoulders shook with what might have been sobs or another coughing fit. Either way, I felt nothing.
I watched through my windshield as she gesticulated wildly from inside their car, her face a mask of fury visible even from this distance.
“I’ll follow in my car,” I replied coldly.
LILLIAN ASHWORTH
Eleanor stepped toward me, her face contorted with rage and desperation. “Look around you! Is this punishment not enough? We’ve lost everything–our home, our status, our money. Your father is dying!”
Twenty minutes later, I pulled up behind their vehicle at our destination: Oakwood Cemetery. My phone immediately rang. Eleanor’s outraged voice filled my car.
MAY SHE FIND THE PEACE DENIED HER IN LIFE
“Oh, save it,” I cut him off. “Deathbed remorse doesn’t erase a lifetime of cruelty.”
“Smart woman.”
I
Harrison sank to his knees, whether from physical weakness or genuine remorse, couldn’t tell. His hand trembled as he reached out toward the headstone but stopped short of touching it.
“My mother,” I said, my voice steady despite the emotion threatening to break through, “died alone in a psychiatric facility where you abandoned her, after you drove her to the brink with your infidelity and cruelty.”
“But I’m not paying for his treatment. And there will be a stop along the way first.” “This is cruel, even for you!”
I smiled at that. Aunt Patricia, my mother’s sister, had more backbone than I’d given her credit for.
“I may have told a four–star general that his tactical assessment was as outdated as his
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haircut.”
BELOVED DAUGHTER AND MOTHER
“Damien?”
I ended the call, ignoring its immediate ringing again, and stepped out of my car. The autumn air was crisp, the cemetery quict save for the rustle of leaves. I walked the familiar path, feeling both stronger and more vulnerable with each step.
I closed my eyes, processing. The idea of controlled, perfect Damien getting drunk enough to say regrettable things was both amusing and concerning.
“I’ll call you tonight,” he promised. “And Hazel? I missed you these past days.”
Their car followed slowly behind me. When I reached my destination, I stopped and waited for them to join me. Harrison looked ghostly as Ethan helped him from the car, his skin nearly translucent in the filtered sunlight.
And in that moment, I realized something important: my power over them wasn’t in making them suffer, but in deciding whether to help despite what they’d done to me. That was the true victory–being able to choose mercy when they’d shown none, or withhold it as they had from me for so many years.
I checked my watch. “The ride will be here in five minutes. Get him ready.”
“Before I decide whether to help you,” I continued, “I want you to look at her grave and tell me why you deserve mercy when you showed her none.”
There was a pause. “Do you need me there?”
“Hazel,” his voice softened. “About the villa-”
I leaned against my car, relief mixing with lingering hurt. “Three days, Damien. Not a word for three days.”
Harrison stared at my mother’s grave, his expression unreadable.
“What is the meaning of this?” Eleanor demanded as they approached.
“Hazel, why are you taking us to a cemetery? Your father is sick, not dead! We need to go to a hospital, not a graveyard!”
A car pulled into the motel lot–the ride I’d arranged for my family. I watched as the
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driver got out and approached room 112.
“No,” I said quickly. “This is something I need to handle myself. But thank you.”
“Is it?” I kept my voice even. “I think it’s quite fitting. Tell the driver to proceed to the northwest section. I’ll meet you there.”
“The whole gang’s here,” I remarked dryly. “How touching”
I stood there, watching him, feeling the years of pain and anger swirling within me. But there was something else too–a strange emptiness where I’d expected satisfaction to be. Seeing my tormentor broken before my mother’s grave brought me no joy, only a hollow sense that nothing could ever truly balance the scales.
“We can talk about that later,” I interrupted. “I should go.”
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