The soft beeping that once sang of life had fallen silent—replaced by a stillness so heavy, it wrapped the room in a suffocating grief. It was the kind of silence that didn't just linger—it mourned.
Nana Shaw lay motionless, her frail body at last free of its burden. Her chest no longer stirred with breath, her lips slightly parted, as if caught mid-whisper. She looked as though she'd drifted into a peaceful sleep.
But there was no waking from this slumber. She was gone. Gone with a whisper of grace, a sliver of joy in her heart, and a prayer lingering on her final breath.
Gregory sat beside her, unmoving—his hand still gently enveloping hers, refusing to let go, as if love alone could hold back death.
His face was a mask of devastation—eyes swollen, distant, and vacant.
The tears that rolled down his cheeks were not just tears of sorrow. They were tears of unspoken forgiveness that had ravaged his soul for years now. Tears of love lost and a perfect home destroyed.
