CHAPTER 110
Laura
Tonight feels like a memory I’ve never lived–a soft candlelight glow, a linen tablecloth white as morning dew, and a single white rose placed at the center of the table. I don’t know whether to feel flattered or afraid.”
Xavier stood as I entered. No guards tonight, no shadows lurking in the corners. Just him. And me.}
“Sit,” he said, his voice low, soft as velvet. “Tonight, I want you to feel something other than fear.“}
He pulled out a chair for me and waited until I was seated before taking his own. Every movement of his felt like a gentle ritual–a strange contrast from the man who once lifted me like I was both a gift and a prisoner at the same time.
I glanced at the plate: lemon thyme risotto, grilled halibut, a touch of saffron. I hadn’t eaten this well since–since before I married Oliver. Since before everything collapsed.
“It’s not poisoned,” Xavier said with a faint smile, as if reading my mind. “If I wanted you dead, Laura, I wouldn’t have saved you from the river that day.“}
“I didn’t ask to be saved.”)
“No. But now you’re here.“}
His words hung in the air between us like dust in candlelight.}
He didn’t push. He poured wine into my glass–non–alcoholic, I realized–and watched me eat with an expression that looked like quiet relief. As if every bite I took proved I was real. Alive. Reachable.}
For a moment, the world shrank: the clink of silverware, the scent of rosemary, the warmth in his gaze. And I hated myself because my body was slowly beginning to melt into that comfort.
“It’s been three days,” he said finally. “We return to the hospital tomorrow.“}]
My hand froze midair. Time had moved so fast. I didn’t feel ready, and yet I was waiting for it to move forward.
Joanna scheduled the surgery for 10 a.m., and we would leave from the nearby hotel. My mind was louder than the engine’s hum.”
I remembered the accident–the fall of my body, the blood, the river swallowing half of me. When I woke up in that dim room, the first thing I noticed was the absence of weight. Not pain, just a strange emptiness where my leg used to be.”
Now, Xavier was giving it back. A real leg. A new life.
Joanna led us to the operating room, explaining the procedure before grafting someone else’s leg onto my body.”
“I know you’re always ready, Laura,” she said with a small smile.
Yes, I was always ready for whatever was terrifying. Even during the suffering with the triplets, I had always managed to stay calm.}
“How’s the recovery?” I asked, fingers gripping the edge of the chair.
“Intensive. But with your condition, and proper rehabilitation, you’ll walk again. Three months, maybe even dance.”}
Xavier stood in the corner of the room, silent, like a shadow in a black suit.}
The night before surgery, I sat in the hospital’s private garden, robe wrapped tightly around me, IV line trailing behind. Xavier found me there, once again, as if pulled by an invisible thread.
“Are you nervous?” he asked.§
I didn’t answer. Instead, I looked at a rose bush. Its petals trembled in the wind, but none fell.
“Are you sure you’re doing all this for me?” I whispered.}
His answer was soft, like he was speaking to himself. “I always promised, if I ever found you again, I’d give back everything the world stole from you.”
He stepped closer. “Even afterward, you chose to leave me.“}
I didn’t say I wouldn’t. I didn’t say I would.”
I just nodded. Once.”
-8
The surgery took six hours.
I only remembered fragments–the cold burst of the mask, the hum of machines, Dr. Joanna’s voice saying, “Begin vascular connection.” Then darkness.
When I woke up, the pain spread like fire from my hip downward. But there was weight. Heaviness. A presence where there once was nothing.
“You’re incredible,” the nurse said. “The graft took. Blood flow is stable. You’re healing.”
Xavier was there. Of course he was. Sitting near the window, a book in his hand that he never read.
“Welcome back,” he said softly.
Tears slid down my face–not from pain, not entirely. But because for the first time in months, I wasn’t broken. At least, not entirely.
He didn’t touch me. He just sat there. Present.
And that night, for once, I didn’t hate him.
