Chapter 44: Bonds That Hold
The winter morning dawned pale and still over the Freeman-Thamaris estate. A thin fog veiled the gardens, and lingering snow dusted the lavender beds and stone paths, quieting the world with a hush that mirrored the solemnity within its walls.
In the heart of the house, the central corridor felt unusually heavy. It led to Viania Thamaris’s suite—normally a place of gentle chatter and measured wisdom, now dominated by the soft hum of medical equipment. A nurse performed routine checks. A physician adjusted the thermometers and sheets. But the real presence in the room was thinner air, as though every breath carried the gravity of fragile time.
Tiania hovered near the door, silent, her posture upright yet tremulous, her eyes tracing the fine lines of her grandmother’s face. Viania lay reclined, pale in repose, wrapped in quilted warmth. She slept or perhaps drifted somewhere beyond and each measured breath felt like a miracle worth holding onto.
