Page 9 of Dawn of Hope

My father sits in a chair, his back to me, facing the large tidy bed in the center of the room. The ornate bedding is so well kept it looks as if the room is unoccupied. He sits silently, leaning forward, resting his hands on the edge of the bed.

I creep closer, leaning slightly to see past the edge of the door. That’s when I hear it.

I don’t recognize it at first, but the longer I stand watching, the more it becomes clear. Sniffling, followed by tiny movements of his shoulders. His hand reaches up to wipe his face.

Crying.

My father is crying.

I lean in, trying to get a better look, to see if there is some reason he is sitting alone crying in her room, when the sound of a voice mumbling catches me off guard.

I stifle a gasp and pull myself back from the doorway, pressing my body against the wall, making myself as small as possible. I suck in deep, measured breaths, trying to still the heaving of my chest at the thought of being caught.

Who is speaking? Who is my father openly crying in front of?

In nearly twenty-one years, I have never seen my father cry.

My shallow breaths and heartbeat pumping through my ears make it difficult to hear. I strain to hear who is speaking, and make out the words that are affecting my father so strongly.

I inch closer and start the breathing exercises Brynne taught me to keep me from getting winded.

Breathe in, hold, slowly breathe out.

On the hold, I listen harder, and can pick up the low voices.

“Are you sure there has been no change?” My father’s voice sounds strained, a small crack of emotion breaks through his words.

“Yes, your majesty. I’m afraid so.”

The healer. It makes sense that he is the one speaking to my father. He has monitored my mother for as long as I can remember, giving my father updates regularly over the years that her health remains unchanged.

“If I may, your majesty.” He pauses.

I push closer to the wall, as if removing that slight bit of space will help my hearing.

“It has been quite some time. Our healers have no explanation for her majesty’s lack of decline, considering her state. However, we feel it is time to contemplate letting her go.”

Silence fills the room and I hold my breath, waiting for my father’s response. As far as I know, no one has ever suggested this to the king, until now.

But why now?

“I’ll consider it,” he grumbles, his voice heavy with emotion. I’m not used to hearing him like this, so different from the cold, short way he speaks to me.

“Of course, your majesty. There is no rushing the matter. Please let us know what you decide.” I hear rustling as the healer gathers his things and I frantically look around the hall. If I walk past the room now, I’ll surely be noticed, and I don’t want to be caught eavesdropping on my father.

I eye the large tapestry next to me and slide behind it. Not the most creative space, but it will have to do. It just brushes the ground, so they won’t see my feet hiding under it. I flatten my body against the wall behind it and wait for the healer to exit the room. His footsteps shuffle past me and I wait a few moments longer to ensure my father doesn’t decide to follow. The quiet sniffling resumes so I’m safe to come out.

He hasn’t left.

I contemplate heading straight to my room, but something makes me stop again and listen. The soft sniffles grow into low sobs. I stand in the hallway, listening to my father cry over a woman I never knew, but so desperately wish I did. I brush a rogue tear off my cheek, the emotion coming from the room overwhelming.

To say my father and I aren’t close is an understatement. He barely tolerates me. It has been that way my entire childhood. I had more interaction with Edmond and Tila, and even Addy and Brynne, than I had with him. Every time he looks at me, I see pain in his eyes.

Pain I had caused.

This is why I avoid this door, and why every time I walk down the hallway, I am slapped with the reminder of what I had done. Tonight is an even harsher reminder of how I stole my father’s happiness, and how I have never been enough to fill that void for him over the past twenty years.

I’d taken my mother away from him, ripped her out of this world and into this state of in-between, where everyone is reminded she is there, but not truly. We have to walk by her chambers every day knowing she lies behind the closed door, unmoving, unable to wake, and unable to live the life she planned with my father.