CHAPTER 63 — HONORING THEIR LOST ANGEL
The mansion was unusually quiet. The only sounds were the soft hum of the air conditioner, the occasional rustle of fabric as Auri moved about, and the distant footsteps of the maids tending to chores around the house. Yet in the vast silence, there was a heavier sound—the echo of Auri's grief, which seemed to fill every corner of the luxurious home more than any furniture or decoration ever could.
Auri sat on the edge of the bed, her knees pulled to her chest, staring blankly at the floor. Her eyes were swollen from crying, and streaks of tears glistened on her cheeks. Her hands rested limply in her lap, trembling occasionally, and her lips were chapped from sobbing. She hadn't eaten much in days, only small sips of water and the occasional fruit she managed to push down when the maids insisted.
Dante's absence was felt like a physical ache. His trips for business, meetings with international clients, and constant travel had left Auri feeling isolated, though she knew he was only a call or a text away. And he was—checking in constantly, worrying, asking the maids for updates.
"Miss Auri," one of the maids, Lila, said gently as she approached with a warm blanket. "You should rest. Mr. Dante asked about you again. He's worried. He said you need to eat something. Even just a little."
Auri shook her head slightly, tears welling up again. "I… I can't… I just… I can't eat. I can't… everything reminds me of them. I keep thinking… what if… what if I could've done something?"
Lila knelt beside her, taking her hand. "My dear… it wasn't your fault. You did everything you could. Mr. Dante says the same. He… he's worried because he loves you. And he wants you to survive this. You must eat. For yourself, and… for your baby's memory."
Auri's tears spilled freely. "I can't… I can't stop feeling guilty. I… I failed them… I failed…"
Before Lila could respond, her phone buzzed. She picked it up and looked at the screen. "Miss Auri… it's Mr. Dante. He's calling again."
Auri shook her head violently. "No… I can't… I don't want to hear it…"
Lila hesitated, then gently said, "He's worried about you. He's… he loves you. Please… maybe just answer. He won't be angry."
After a long pause, Auri's hand trembled as she lifted the phone to her ear. "H-Hello?" she whispered, voice broken.
"Auri…" Dante's voice came through, low and tight, filled with concern and restrained emotion. "Auri… are you okay? I heard from Lila that… you haven't eaten again. Please, please, just… just eat something. You have to stay strong. For yourself."
Auri sniffled. "I… I can't, Dante… I… I keep thinking about… everything… about them…"
"I know," Dante said softly. "I know you're hurting. I can't take away your pain. I can't… but I can be here with you. I'm here, Auri. Always. And we… we need to honor them, together. We can do something to remember them. Something… beautiful."
Auri's heart trembled at his words, and her tears fell faster. "But… how… how can we… when they're… gone…? How do we even…?"
Dante's voice was steady, gentle, but firm. "We remember them, Auri. We don't forget. We name them… we pray… we create something… a place or a memory for them. Something that keeps their presence with us. I want us to do it together. For them. For us. Please… let me help you."
Auri shook her head, overwhelmed. "I… I don't… I don't deserve… I don't deserve to be happy… when… they're gone…"
"You do, Auri," Dante said, almost pleading now. "You deserve to live. You deserve to breathe. And you deserve to… to have a piece of them in our hearts. Let me do this with you. We can plant a garden, a little tree… something alive that will always remind us. We'll honor them, Auri. And we'll grieve together… but we'll survive together too."
Auri's sobs quieted slightly as she imagined it—a small, delicate tree, blooming under the sun, carrying the memory of the life she had lost. She could picture Dante standing beside her, holding her hand, whispering that it wasn't her fault. Slowly, she nodded.
"Yes… maybe… maybe we could… together…" Her voice cracked, but there was a faint glimmer of hope in it. "I… I think… I want that…"
Dante's sigh of relief was audible even through the phone. "That's all I need, Auri. We'll do this together. And I promise… I'll be here for you. I'm not leaving, ever. Not now. Not ever."
For the first time in days, Auri allowed herself to feel a small spark of warmth in her chest amidst the grief. "I… I'm scared, Dante… but… I… I'll try. For them… for us."
"You don't have to be perfect," Dante said softly. "You just have to be you. That's enough. That's everything."
The maids watched silently from the doorway, giving them privacy. Auri clutched the blanket to her chest, feeling the first real thread of hope in weeks. She could feel Dante's presence, even over the phone, steadying her, reminding her that even though they had lost, they still had each other.
"You're right," she whispered, tears still falling. "We… we'll honor them. We'll… we'll remember them. Together."
"Together," Dante echoed. "And I'll be by your side every step of the way. I love you, Auri. More than anything."
"I love you too," Auri whispered, a shaky smile forming through her tears. "Even… even in this pain… I love you."
And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Auri allowed herself to believe that even after loss, love could still bring healing. That together, she and Dante could find a way to honor the life they had lost and survive the grief that threatened to drown them.