The door was half-open.
Inside, the lights were dim, and the faint scent of hospital antiseptic mingled with something softer—lavender, fresh linens, and something heartbreakingly familiar.
Seraphine stepped forward—but froze.
Then, she asked Dahlia to care for him.
Dahlia nodded and went to sit quietly by the bedside, her posture delicate yet assured, her fingers dipping a cloth into warm water and gently started to wipe Callum's forehead.
Callum didn't stir.
His arm, strapped and elevated. Tubes ran from his veins, and his chest rose in slow, medicated rhythm.
Dahlia, the girl with patient hands and a history carved into the very marrow of Callum's bones, was tending to him as though the world had never changed.
Seraphine didn't enter further.
She didn't speak. Only watches.
Her boots stepped backward, soundlessly. She leaned against the wall just across the hallway, one hand against her heart as if to keep it still.
---
Minutes turned into hours as the night wore on.
Dahlia remained steadfast at Callum's bedside, her gentle vigil undisturbed.
Meanwhile, the hospital's routine care for a patient like him was observed with clinical precision. At scheduled intervals, specialized nurses rotated in, briefing one another and tending to his every need—ensuring that, even in his fragile state, no detail of his care was overlooked. Their quiet professionalism added a distinct rhythm to the room, yet the soft glow beneath the door still rendered it a capsule of intimate devotion—one that belonged solely to the bond between Dahlia and Callum...
... and Sera is silently letting them.
By 2 a.m., as the gentle hum of the night shift settled into a steady cadence, Seraphine finally rose. With no fanfare and blending into the hushed corridors of the hospital, she slipped away, unnoticed by those who continued their dutiful rounds.
---
Two days passed.
The third morning dawned pale, the sky a washed-out blue behind soft hospital curtains.
Callum stirred.
His body ached.
His lips were dry.
But he felt warmth beside him.
His lashes fluttered open, and the first thing he saw was Dahlia arranging a bouquet of tulips in the vase beside his bed.
She looked tired. Her hair was tied back. She wore one of those modest beige cardigans that always reminded him of spring days and quiet laughter.
"Dahlia," he murmured, a weak smile tugging at his mouth.
She turned instantly, relief flooding her face. "You're awake."
He blinked slowly.
But as his gaze moved past her, something else settled behind his eyes.
"Where's... Seraphine?"
There was a pause. Subtle. Sharp.
"She never came," Dahlia said gently.
Callum's eyes dimmed, the hope in them dulling to something distant. His fingers curled slightly in the sheets.
"Thank you," was all he said.
---
Three days later, the hospital staff requested that the billing process be finalized.
Due to policy, a legal family member had to attend to it in person.
That morning, Seraphine arrived—her coat pressed, boots immaculate, her hair styled in a perfect braid. Every inch of her bore the unmistakable mark of an Elion daughter. Her first stop was the billing station. Then, she headed straight to the patient's room.
The door opened silently. Inside, the lights were low, and the usual hum of machines blended with the soft scent of hospital antiseptic. But there was no sign of Dahlia. Only Callum was there, half-sitting upright in bed, silently reading a document. Off to the side sat Jonas, the Avienne master butler.
At the sight of her, Jonas quickly rose. "Ma'am," he greeted, his tone respectful yet no-nonsense.
Callum looked up. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
"I'm here to process the billing," Seraphine said simply.
Callum's eyes betrayed a tired resignation as he replied, "I know."
Jonas cleared his throat and quietly exited the room, leaving them.
---
Seraphine was the first to break the silence. "Where is Dahlia?" she asked softly.
Callum regarded her with a subtle reprimand in his eyes and replied, "I asked her to leave."
The words struck her unexpectedly, and though she was taken aback, she couldn't help but feel a quiet, flickering happiness deep inside.
"I see," she murmured, her tone subdued and thoughtful.
She longed to question him further, to understand his reasons, but her mouth remained silent—words caught in the space between what was spoken and what was left unsaid.