Chapter 13

The quiet of the little house was no longer a refuge; it had become a test. For weeks, I had built a fortress of solitude, and now the silence felt like an echo of a life I was actively avoiding. The daily phone calls from Damian had been a fragile bridge back to the world, a tether I hadn't realized I was holding so tightly. But the calls had stopped. One day, two, and then a third. The silence wasn't just a missed conversation; it was a loud absence that filled every room.

I tried to tell myself it was a good thing. A step toward true independence. My peace couldn't hinge on a phone call. I knew that intellectually. Emotionally, it was a different matter. My mind conjured a dozen scenarios. Had he given up? Had he decided I wasn't worth the effort? Or was he simply busy, a mundane reason that was far less dramatic than the rest? I paced the length of my small living room, the unfinished canvases on the easel mocking my composure.

I picked up my phone, my thumb hovering over his name. I told myself to be strong, to wait. But the anxiety gnawed at me. I was a woman who had finally found her peace, yet the first sign of trouble had me on the verge of calling. The irony was not lost on me.

Just as I was about to give in, my phone rang. The screen flashed my brother Liam's name. My heart dropped. Liam wasn't a man who made casual calls. His tone was always clipped and serious, a man who dealt in facts and consequences.

"Emmah," he said, his voice devoid of its usual calm. "You need to come back. Now."

My hand tightened on the phone. "Liam, what is it? What's wrong?" I braced myself, my mind already leaping to the worst conclusions. My father? Grandpa's passing had taken a toll on his health. The family business? The company was always a powder keg of tension.

"It's Damian," he said, and the name hit me with a force that knocked the air from my lungs. "He was in an accident. He's at the hospital."

The world seemed to spin. All the progress, all the careful layers of calm I had built, shattered. It was a domino effect of terror and regret. The peace I had so carefully nurtured was built on a foundation of him being okay. I didn't ask for details. I just grabbed my keys, my mind a blur of frantic thoughts and silent prayers.

The drive was a blur of frantic thoughts and silent prayers. I didn't care about the speed limit. I didn't even care that I was driving a car I hadn't been in for weeks. My entire universe had shrunk to one single point: getting to him.

The hospital smelled like antiseptic and fear. I found Liam in the waiting room, his face a grim mask. The usual composure of my oldest brother was gone, replaced by a raw, naked worry that sent a fresh wave of panic through me. He stood up when he saw me, a look of relief and pain in his eyes.

"He's in surgery now," Liam said, his voice low and strained. "The doctors said it was a car crash. A bad one. He's not stable."

The words hit me like a physical blow. I felt my legs give out, and Liam caught me, his arms a steady anchor in a world that was suddenly spinning out of control. He led me to a chair, and I sat there, numb. My mind replayed his voice on the phone, his honest words, his promises to wait for me. All the anger and resentment I had harbored melted away, leaving only a raw, terrifying ache. It was a stark reminder of the fragile nature of life and the depth of a love I had tried so hard to deny. I loved him. I had always loved him. And the thought of losing him was more than I could bear.

A few hours later, a doctor came out. He looked exhausted, but his expression wasn’t one of defeat. "He's out of surgery," the doctor said. "He's stable. He had a few broken bones and some internal injuries, but he's a fighter. We expect a full recovery, but it will be a long road."

I felt the tears I had been holding back spill over. A wave of relief so powerful it left me weak washed over me. Liam put a hand on my shoulder, and I leaned into his touch, my body shaking with silent sobs. For the first time, I felt the full weight of the loss I had been prepared to face, and the relief of not having to.

When I was finally allowed to see him, he was in a private room, a network of wires and tubes attached to his body. His face was bruised and cut, and his right arm was in a cast. He looked so vulnerable, so fragile. I sat beside his bed, holding his uninjured hand, my thumb tracing the back of it. He stirred, and his eyes slowly opened. They were foggy at first, but when they landed on me, they cleared, a small, weak smile forming on his lips.

"You came back," he whispered, his voice hoarse.

"Of course I came back," I said, my voice thick with emotion. The words felt inadequate, but there was nothing else to say.

"I'm sorry I scared you," he said.

"Don't you dare apologize," I said, a tear rolling down my cheek. "Just get better."

He squeezed my hand, a small but firm grip. "I will. For you."

I stayed with him all night, falling asleep with my head on his bed, his hand still in mine. The next morning, I was woken by a gentle knock on the door. It was Declan.

"I heard what happened," he said, his eyes on Damian. "Is he okay?"

"He's going to be," I said.

Declan nodded slowly. "Good. He's a good man, Emmah. He’s always loved you, even when he didn't know how to show it."

He looked at me then, his gaze gentle and knowing. "I'm glad you're here with him. You two have a lot of healing to do, but you'll get there. I'll be in touch."

And with a nod, he was gone. I looked at Damian, and I knew in that moment that my heart had never truly left him. The journey to myself had led me right back to the one I loved. My story was with him, and I was ready to write the next chapter.