His Knees, His Pleas, But Our Son's in Peace

Chapter 27

Chapter 27

The sound of the door opening pulled me from my reverie. I glanced up as Issca stepped into the room, a tray in his hands. scent of something savory wafted

The

toward me, and I realized I hadn't eaten all day. Issca had been hovering around me ever since Oliver passed, trying to take care of me as if he could somehow fill the void that was left.

"Doris, you shouldn't be watching this trash," Issca said, his voice gentle but firm

as he placed the tray on the coffee table.

He was always like this-caring,

protective, but I couldn't bring myself to accept his help completely. Not when the pain was still so raw, so consuming. "I'm fine," I replied, forcing a small smile

that didn't reach my eyes. "You don't have

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to worry about me."

Issca sighed, his eyes full of concern. "You need to eat something. You've been in and out of the hospital so much lately... I made

your

favorite soup."

Í nodded, but my mind was far away. I

couldn't shake the memories of those

endless hospital visits with Oliver-the} sterile smell of antiseptics, the beeping

machines, the doctors' grim expressions.

We had fought so hard, clung to every

-shred of hope, but it hadn't been enough.

And now, all I had left were memories.

"I know you're trying to help," I

I said

quietly, picking up the spoon. "But I need to do this on my own. I need to be strong."

beside

on my

to do it alone, Doris. You have people who care

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Pleas, But Our Son's

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moment, I almost believed that I could lean on

the pain would come crashing back, reminding

my voice soft but resolute. "But I need to focus on getting

slumped slightly, but he nodded in understanding.

you need anything."

me alone

smell of the soup filling the air, but my

placed the tray aside

to escape the

hospital had

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Knees, His Pleas, But Our

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but the walls of this place felt like they

was overgrown, weeds sprouting up between the flowerbeds where my mother's roses used

hers,

and now it was all

bent down and began

the weeds, my hands

tried to lose

the task

the task.

matter how many

many weeds I pulled, I couldn't shake the

I had spent so

nights I had sat

praying for a miracle.

spiraling. My wolf's

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His Pleas, But Our Son's in

HIS

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I

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