Chapter 9 - The Last Breath of AutumnTwo months later, the autumn leaves turned amber and gold, carpeting the sprawling lawns of the Hale estate in crunchy red and brown.
Inside the east wing suite, the windows were thrown open to let in the crisp, sweet mountain air.
Eleanor Hale sat propped up in her bed, propped against embroidered pillows, looking remarkably peaceful. The aggressive cancer had finally taken its toll on her physical strength, but her eyes—sharp, bright, and filled with a profound, untroubled light—remained entirely her own.
Bennett and Clara sat beside her bed, holding her hands.
“You two are taking entirely too long to plan a wedding,” Eleanor teased weakly, a faint smile playing on her pale lips. “At my age, I expected to dance at least one slow song before I checked out.”
“We’ll plan it whenever you're ready, Mother,” Bennett said softly, kissing the back of her frail hand.
Eleanor shook her head, her gaze shifting to Clara. “Don't wait for me, child. Happiness is too rare in this family to put it on hold for a dying woman.”
Clara squeezed Eleanor’s fingers, tears blurring her vision. “Thank you, Eleanor. For everything.”
“Thank your father,” Eleanor whispered, her eyelids growing heavy. “He sent you here to save us all.”
Slowly, effortlessly, like a candle flickering out after a long night, Eleanor Hale closed her eyes. Her breathing hitched once, twice, and then settled into an eternal, peaceful silence.
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There were no machines beeping frantically. There were no hired nurses panicking in the hallway.
There was only a son holding his mother’s hand, and the woman who had taught them both how to love before it was too late.
