A single drop of cold water splashed against my cheek, dragging me out of a black void. My eyelids fluttered open to an unfamiliar white ceiling. The rhythmic beeping of machines echoed in my ears, and the sterile sting of antiseptic burned my nose. My throat was dry like I'd swallowed gravel.
Hospital.
"Honey, she's awake!"
The voice sliced through the fog. Warm. Familiar. Too familiar.
Then his face appeared my father. The man I used to call Dad.
My stomach twisted. Out of all people, he was the last one I wanted to see.
"Oh, my daughter… you're okay. I was worried sick," he choked out, tears streaming down his rugged face. The same tears he should've shed years ago, when I was alone when she died.
My lips trembled as my voice came out like a whisper laced with venom.
"You know, right?"
The room froze. His smile faltered. The silence grew heavy, suffocating, and I already knew the answer from the guilt in their eyes.
"Oh, God…" I muttered bitterly. "Couldn't I have just died in peace?"
My dad took a shaky breath, voice cracking. "Why didn't you tell me, Tess? I could've done something I could've saved you!"
Saved me? The irony stung worse than the IV needle in my arm.
You weren't there when I needed saving, old man.
Where were you when Mom coughed up blood for me? When she traded her life for mine?
I clenched my fists, my chest burning.
I didn't want anyone's pity. I didn't want whispered prayers or fake sympathy. I just wanted to disappear quietly, without anyone acting like I was some fragile porcelain doll.
Maybe if he'd kept his promises, maybe if he hadn't left us drowning in pain, I wouldn't have become this broken thing. Maybe I wouldn't have been cursed with this slow, cruel death.
"I don't want to talk about it," I said coldly.
"Tess—"
"I SAID I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT!" My voice tore through the room like shattered glass. The monitors spiked; my breath hitched. I coughed hard, tasting iron on my tongue.
"Get out," I screamed, my voice shaking. "Just get the hell out!"
Mrs. Bronco's soft hand touched his arm. "Come, let's go, honey."
Their faces fell as they left and the silence that followed was unbearable.
The moment the door shut, I broke. My body shook with ugly, uncontrollable sobs. I didn't mean to scream at him. But seeing him was like ripping open an old wound that never healed.
Every time I looked at him, I saw her — Mom's pale face, her last smile before the light left her eyes. I hated him for reminding me of what I lost… and hated myself even more for still craving his love.
I wished the cancer would finish me off already. Why drag it out? Why keep me breathing when all I wanted was rest?
Maybe I was a mistake. Maybe God regretted making me.
The door creaked open.
"Slavy…" I whispered, blinking through tears.
He stood there, swaying slightly eyes red, shirt torn, knuckles bruised. He reeked of alcohol and blood. The sight of him made my heart ache and my stomach twist.
"Slavvy, what happened to you—"
"I know…" he interrupted, his voice low, slurred. "You're disgusted by me. You probably don't even want to see me right now."
"What? No—"
"I'm the reason you went into shock. Because of me, you almost died." His voice cracked. "Every woman I've ever loved ends up dead. My mother, Lily, Rose… all gone. Maybe I cursed you too. Maybe I am the reason you got sick."
His hands shook as he laughed a hollow, broken sound. "I came here so fast when I heard you woke up, I almost crashed. Guess life still wants to punish me."
I stared, heart shattering with every word. He was spiraling drowning in guilt, in the kind of pain that couldn't be reasoned with.
"Slavvy, stop—"
"I love you, Testimony," he whispered, his voice trembling. "With everything I have left. But your family's right. I'm poison. You were light, and I dragged you into my darkness. I'm sorry."
My throat closed up. "No, listen to me—"
The door swung open.
"Slavy, let's go," Sky's voice cut through, cool and sharp. She barely looked at me. Her hand slipped around his arm, steadying him.
I froze as he let her guide him away. A small, satisfied smile ghosted across her lips.
Tears blurred my vision. Betrayal, pain, rage — all swirling together until I couldn't breathe.
"Perfect," I muttered, my voice cracking. "Just perfect."
My hand trembled as I reached for the IV line. "Screw this," I hissed, ripping the wires off. Alarms screamed. Pain flared through my veins as I tore away the tubes and monitors.
Voices shouted outside the door footsteps rushed in but I didn't care. The room spun, and my breath grew shallow.
The world dimmed, sounds fading into a low hum.
For once, the darkness felt… kind.
Maybe death wasn't the end maybe it was peace.
And as everything slipped away, the last thing I saw was the ghost of Slavy's face in my mind blood, tears, and love twisted into tragedy.
The kind of love the mafia never forgives.