Chapter 26
The breach lasted less than an hour.
Inside the secure room, it lasted a lifetime.
When the door finally opened, Alexander stood there with rain in his hair and dirt across one sleeve.
I crossed the space before he could speak.
He caught me against him.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
I pulled back enough to inspect him.
“You?”
“No.”
A voice sounded behind him.
“General.”
Ethan stood in the corridor holding a phone.
The expression on his face made my stomach drop.
“Valour Medical. Mr Zane collapsed.”
Everything inside me went cold.
We were in the car within minutes.
At the hospital, Dad looked impossibly small beneath white sheets and cardiac leads.
The doctor spoke gently. Another severe event. This time his heart was not recovering.
There are moments when medical knowledge becomes cruelty.
I knew what the numbers meant.
I knew why the staff stopped speaking in the future tense.
I sat beside Dad and held his hand.
Alexander stood behind me until Dad opened his eyes.
“Gracie.”
“I’m here.”
His gaze moved to Alexander.
“General.”
Alexander stepped forward.
“Sir.”
Dad smiled faintly. “Still too formal.”
Alexander’s jaw moved.
“Daniel.”
“Better.”
Mia arrived with Eleanor and Richard. They stayed near the door, giving us what privacy a hospital room could offer.
Dad looked at Alexander.
“You gave me time. Better doctors. Less worry. I know you won’t take credit, so I’m giving it anyway. Thank you.”
“You don’t owe me thanks.”
“I know.”
Dad’s breath caught.
I tightened my grip on his hand.
“I need one thing from you.”
Alexander came closer.
“Name it.”
Dad looked at me.
“Don’t let her believe she has to survive everything alone. She will try. She’s very good at it.”
My vision blurred.
“Dad—”
Alexander’s voice was steady.
“I give you my word. As a soldier and as her husband.”
Dad closed his eyes briefly.
Relief softened his face.
“Good.”
He squeezed my hand.
“You were the best thing that ever happened to me, Gracie.”
“Don’t.”
“Let me say it.”
I bent over him, crying too hard to pretend otherwise.
“Your mother would be proud of you. I am proud of you. There was never a day—never one—when loving you felt like work.”
His breathing slowed.
I knew.
I knew before the monitor told me.
“Dad.”
His eyes found mine one last time.
“My girl.”
Then he was gone.
There are sounds grief removes from a room.
For me, the first was my father’s voice.
The days after his death came in fragments: paperwork, flowers, condolences, the funeral, hands touching my shoulder, food I did not taste.
Alexander handled what I could not.
He did not tell me to be strong.
He did not remind me that time would heal anything.
He sat beside me in silence. He answered calls. He stood between reporters and me. At night, if I woke crying, he came without asking questions.
I should have found comfort in his promise to Dad.
Instead, another fear began to grow.
What if that promise was the reason he stayed?
What if every act of tenderness belonged to duty?
Grief had taken my father.
I could not bear to discover that love had only been an obligation wearing a gentler face.
