Caliste slowly opened her eyes, the sterile scent of the hospital surrounding her as the faint beeping of machines filled the silence. Her vision was blurry at first, but as it cleared, she saw two familiar figures by her bedside—Lucian and Caelum.
Both men looked exhausted, their faces pale and their eyes hollow from sleepless nights. Caelum immediately leaned forward, relief flooding his expression. "Caliste… you're awake," he whispered gently.
Lucian, sitting quietly on the other side, could barely breathe. His lips parted, but no words came out. He simply stared at her—alive, fragile, and still breathtaking despite the pain etched into her features.
Caliste blinked a few times, her voice weak. "Where… am I?" she murmured. "What happened?" Then, as if something struck her, she placed a trembling hand over her stomach. "My baby… hows my baby?"
The room fell into a heavy silence. Caelum froze, lowering his gaze, while Lucian turned his face away, his jaw tightening. Neither of them could speak.
Caliste looked between the two, panic rising in her chest. "How is my child?" she asked again, her voice breaking this time. "Tell me! Please!"
Tears welled in her eyes as realization began to claw its way into her heart. "No… no, please… tell me anything…" she whispered, shaking her head violently. "My baby is okay… right?"
When no one answered, then Caelum softly touch her hand and says "The baby is in better place right now."
Her voice turned into screams. "No! You're lying to me! My baby is alive! alive!" Her cries grew louder, more desperate, until she began thrashing weakly against the sheets, clutching her stomach as tears poured down her face.
Lucian couldn't bear it any longer. He rushed to her side and wrapped his arms around her trembling body. "Caliste, please—please stop," he whispered hoarsely, his own tears falling freely. "I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"
But Caliste struggled in his arms, pounding weakly against his chest. "You're lying! Bring him back! Bring my baby back!" Her cries echoed painfully through the room, breaking everyone's heart.
The nurses hurried in, followed by the doctor, who quickly administered a sedative. Slowly, Caliste's screams faded into quiet sobs, then silence, as the medicine took effect and she drifted back into an uneasy sleep.
Lucian remained holding her, his head bowed, tears still falling onto her hand. Caelum stood by the window, his fists clenched, his eyes glistening as he fought his own grief.
In that moment, both men—once rivals bound by pride—were united by one thing: guilt and the unbearable weight of losing the same woman they both cared for in their own way.
The silence in the hospital room grew heavier after Caliste fell back asleep. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound that reminded them she was still alive.
Lucian slowly released her hand, his fingers trembling. His face was pale, his eyes red-rimmed. He stared at her sleeping form as if memorizing every breath she took—afraid that if he looked away, she would disappear again.
Caelum stood by the window, his expression cold and distant, but his eyes betrayed the storm of emotions raging inside. He turned toward Lucian and said quietly, "You should go home and rest."
Lucian shook his head. "No," he said hoarsely. "I'm staying here."
Caelum sighed deeply, crossing his arms. "Lucian, she needs peace. Seeing you might only remind her of everything that happened."
Lucian's jaw tightened. "You think I don't know that?" His voice cracked, the weight of regret pressing down on every word. "But I left her once… and because of that, she almost died. I won't do it again."
For a long moment, neither spoke. The tension in the room was thick, but beneath it lay a shared pain neither could deny.
Finally, Caelum's voice softened. "You hurt her more than anyone ever could," he said quietly, "but I can see now that you're hurting too. I'll stay outside for a while. Just… don't make her cry again, Lucian."
Lucian nodded wordlessly, and Caelum left the room, closing the door gently behind him.
Lucian sat beside Caliste again. He brushed a few strands of hair from her face, his fingertips trembling. Her features were soft now, but the faint traces of tears on her cheeks tore through him like knives.
He whispered, almost to himself, "If I could take back everything I said… if I could've just listened instead of judging…" His voice cracked, and he closed his eyes. "You didn't deserve this, Caliste. You deserved my love—not my pride."
A single tear fell onto her hand.
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small velvet box—the same ring he once intended to give her months ago, before everything fell apart. He opened it quietly, staring at the silver band glinting faintly under the hospital light.
"I was supposed to ask you to stay," he murmured, a sad smile ghosting on his lips. "But I pushed you away instead. And now… I don't even know if you'll ever forgive me."
Outside the room, Victoria arrived with Elias. She stopped by the door, peeking through the small glass window. When she saw her grandson—usually composed and proud—silently weeping beside Caliste's bedside, her heart sank.
Elias looked at her and said softly, "He hasn't left her side since she came here, ma'am."
Victoria nodded slowly, tears forming in her eyes. "He's finally paying the price of loving too late," she whispered, then she sat beside Caelum and ask what really happened.
Inside, Lucian pressed his forehead gently against Caliste's hand. "Please wake up," he breathed. "Even if you hate me… I just want you to come back."
He stayed like that for hours, unmoving—until dawn broke, painting the hospital room with pale light.
----
Lucian hadn't left the hospital room in days. His once-pristine suits were replaced by simple shirts and sweatpants Caelum had brought him. His normally sharp features were softened by exhaustion — dark circles under his eyes, his usually styled hair now disheveled. He refused to go home, refused to rest, as if leaving would mean abandoning Caliste again.
Caelum entered quietly, holding a bag of food and fresh clothes. "You haven't eaten all day," he said, setting the bag down on the side table. "You'll collapse before she even wakes up again."
Lucian didn't respond. He just sat by Caliste's bedside, his thumb tracing faint circles on her cold hand. His voice was low, distant. "She screamed again last night. I couldn't do anything."
Caelum sighed and sat across him. "The doctor said it's trauma. Her body's remembering what her mind can't handle yet."
Lucian pressed his palms against his face, shoulders trembling. "It's my fault," he said, his voice breaking. "If I had gone that night—if I hadn't been so damn proud—she wouldn't be lying here like this."
Caelum looked at him quietly. The anger he once carried had burned into something heavier — pity. "You made a mistake," he said finally. "But blaming yourself won't bring her back faster. What she needs now isn't guilt. It's someone who won't leave this time."
Lucian looked at him, eyes bloodshot. "You think she'll forgive me?"
Caelum hesitated, then shook his head slowly. "Forgiveness isn't something you can ask for right now, Lucian. You just… stay. Be here. That's more than what you gave her before."
The room fell silent, the soft beeping of the monitor the only sound between them.
Hours later, the door opened — Gregory and Agatha Winslow entered, their faces lined with worry. Agatha carried a small bag of food for Lucian while Gregory held flowers. They looked at Caliste first, their daughter pale and fragile beneath the hospital sheets, then at Lucian — who stood immediately, guilt written all over his face.
Gregory gave a long sigh before approaching him. "Lucian," he said gently, "this isn't the time to carry the world on your shoulders."
Lucian bowed his head. "Mr. Winslow… Mrs. Winslow… I—"
Agatha raised a hand, stopping him. Her tone was calm, motherly but firm. "We know what happened. And we know you loved her, despite everything."
Lucian's throat tightened. "Then you know I failed her."
Gregory stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Son, life has a way of teaching us through pain. Sometimes, things fall apart so we can see what truly matters. Don't spend your days drowning in regret — make this pain mean something."
Lucian swallowed hard, eyes glistening. "She lost the child because of me."
Agatha's lips trembled, but she kept her composure. "Everything happens for a reason, Lucian," she whispered. "Perhaps this is fate's cruel way of giving both of you another chance… to learn, to heal, to understand love beyond pride and fear."
Lucian closed his eyes, and for a moment, the weight of their words sank deep into him.
When Gregory and Agatha left the room to speak with the doctor, Caelum quietly approached his cousin again. "They're right," he said softly. "You can't change what happened. But you can still decide who you'll be when she wakes up for good."
Lucian turned toward Caliste, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. His voice was quiet — trembling, sincere. "Then I'll be the man she deserves this time. Even if she never takes me back… I'll stay until she's strong again."
Caelum nodded, then quietly left him alone in the dimly lit room.
Lucian leaned forward, pressing his forehead to the back of Caliste's hand. "Please come back," he murmured. "If not for me, then for Lucca. You've always been stronger than I ever deserved."
The room fell into silence again — but this time, the heaviness felt less hopeless, as if something unseen had finally begun to shift between pain and redemption.