“Come on, baby,” I whispered. “Stay with me.”
Then—flatline.
A piercing tone. A nightmare.
“Charge to twenty joules.”
“Charged.”
“Clear!”
Her body twitched. The monitor stayed flat.
Again.
“Clear!”
Nothing.
I grabbed her hand, pressing my forehead to it. “Please, Celeste.” My voice broke.
Silence.
The team waited. The clock kept ticking.
"Time of death..." My lips trembled.
My knees buckled. A sob ripped from my throat.
I failed. I lost her.
—
The rain fell in relentless sheets, drumming against the canopy of black umbrellas surrounding the freshly dug grave. My fingers were ice-cold, but I couldn’t tell if it was from the rain or the crushing grief sinking into my bones.
Celeste’s coffin sat in the damp earth, too small, too final.
I barely heard the priest’s prayers. Everything blurred together—the murmurs of condolences, the scent of wet soil, the weight of my loss. But through it all, one thing stood out.
Selena.
She stood close—too close—to Marco. Dressed in a sleek black dress, her expression was carefully composed. No grief, no sadness. Just quiet observation, her eyes lingering on him, not our daughter’s coffin.
Rage bubbled in my chest. Why is she even here?