Ivan sat by her bedside. His hand rested gently on her arm, patting her softly. Lydia hadn't moved. Her face was pale, her eyes still closed. She looked peaceful, but he knew it wasn't peace. It was silence. The kind of silence that comes from pain.
"I don't know what you went through," Ivan whispered, his voice breaking. "But you have to fight it. Please... come back to me. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry I hurt you."
His hands were trembling as he touched her. The warmth of her body was there, but she felt far away. Somewhere else. Like her soul was trapped.
---
Her mind was still in that memory. That dark, horrible memory. She was back at the door. She could see everything clearly. Her younger self standing just outside the study, her ear pressed to the door. Her father was inside, talking to a man whose face was half-covered with scars. His voice was cold and angry.
