My Last Breath, His Eternal Regret

The isolation ward was colder than any winter. Frost crawled along the windowpane like veins of ice. My body shook so violently I couldn’t tell where the trembling ended and the grief began.

On the nightstand, my phone glowed faintly: 16 days. Sixteen mornings left—if I woke at all.

Exhaustion dragged me under, and my last thought was a memory—Henry Colombo as a boy, sunlight in his hair, promising: “Olivia, I’ll always protect you.”

When I opened my eyes again, antiseptic stung my nose. My arm ached from the IV, my lips cracked.

The door swung open. Henry entered, his arm shielding Susan as though even air might bruise her.

“Olivia, look what you’ve done.” His voice was glacial. He pushed up Susan’s sleeve, showing faint bruises. “If I hadn’t gotten there in time, who knows what would’ve happened to her.”

My throat burned. “It wasn’t me…” The words rasped like sand.

“Apologize,” he ordered. His eyes were cold, unrecognizable. “Now. To her.”

Susan lingered behind him, feigning fear, though the corner of her lips curled with triumph.

I squeezed my fists, nails biting into skin. How many times had I swallowed humiliation just to keep the peace? But this—this was my mother’s name, my own dignity—if I bent now, what would be left of me?

“I didn’t touch her,” I said, each word heavy. “You can investigate. I have nothing to confess.”

Henry’s jaw tightened. Doubt flickered—only to die when Susan tugged his sleeve with trembling fingers.

“Forget it, Henry. If Olivia won’t apologize, I’ll let it go. Just… there’s one thing.”

Her eyes slid to my throat, to the emerald resting there. My mother’s last gift.

“I’ve always admired that necklace,” she whispered. “If she gives it to me, I’ll forgive her.”

I froze. My hand flew to my neck, clutching the chain until it cut into my palm.

This necklace wasn’t just metal. It was my mother’s hand brushing my hair before bed. Her voice telling me I was loved. The last proof that once, I belonged somewhere.

“No,” I breathed, my voice breaking. “It’s the only thing I have left of her.”

Henry’s eyes hardened. He held out his hand, unyielding. “Give it to her, Olivia. Think of it as compensation.”

“Compensation?” My laugh cracked, raw. “You’d make me buy back my innocence with my mother’s memory?”

He didn’t flinch. “It’s only an object. Peace matters more.”

Tears blurred my sight. I wanted to scream, to throw the chain at his feet, to run. But I was too weak, too cornered, too alone.

With trembling fingers, I unclasped the necklace and placed it in his palm. The metal left my skin like a piece of my heart being torn away.

He turned and handed it to Susan.

She cupped it like a prize, then looked at me, eyes glinting with mock sympathy.

“But Olivia… if you apologize now, I’ll give it back.”

My chest hollowed. Shame burned hotter than the IV sting. Henry said nothing—only watched, silent, waiting.

I thought of my mother. Of the girl I once was, who had believed love could shield her. And then I broke.

“I’m sorry.” My voice was a whisper scraped raw.

Susan’s smile bloomed like a poisonous flower. She stepped forward, holding the necklace between two fingers.

“Good girl. Since you’ve apologized, I’ll return it to you.”

She extended her hand—then released it.

The emerald slipped through her fingers and struck the tiles.

The sound of shattering glass split the silence, sharp and final.

I stared at the fragments glittering at my feet, unable to move, unable to breathe.

Susan pressed a hand to her lips, feigning dismay. “Oh no… I didn’t mean to. It just slipped.”

Behind her, Henry’s silence cut deeper than any blade.

At my bedside, the phone lit up again.

15 days.