The Cruel Game ✓

Chapter Twenty Thirty

ALEXANDRA NICOLAIDES

"Damien, Amelia made you cupcakes," I softly murmur, my voice barely rising above a whisper, as I carefully place the plate outside the locked door.

Amelia, his resilient little girl, gazes up at me with innocent eyes, her heart filled with boundless love. I offer her a tender smile, wanting to shield her from the darkness that has befallen our lives.

She walks away, her small figure disappearing into the guest room where Jordan seeks solace. I find myself closing my eyes, seeking a moment of respite amidst the weight of grief that hangs in the air.

The door stands as a solemn barrier, separating Damien from the rest of the world. Behind its imposing presence, he mourns the loss of Maria, the love of his life, whose absence leaves a void that cannot be filled.

I can almost feel the heaviness of his heart, the waves of sorrow crashing against the fortress he has erected around himself. He has retreated into the depths of his anguish, his grief consuming him like a relentless tempest.

"The funeral is in a couple of days...just to let you know." I speak out against the door, I look behind me and see Ares leaning against the wall with his arms folded- I shake my head at him, Damien hasn't eaten a single thing since he's stayed here.

Ares signals his head, indicating that we should just leave him.

As we enter the bedroom, I interlock my trembling hands with Ares', seeking solace in his touch. The weight of our shared grief hangs heavy in the air, as if the room itself is aware of the immense sorrow that permeates our souls. Ares gently closes the door, shutting out the world, allowing us a respite from the outside pain.

I settle onto the bed, the softness beneath me offering little comfort compared to the weight of our shattered dreams. Beside me, a basket of neglected laundry sits, a stark reminder of the mundane tasks that have become inconsequential in the face of our profound loss.

"Is the kids asleep?" I ask Ares who nods.

It serves as a stark contrast to the magnitude of the emotions that engulf us.

Ares' voice breaks the silence, his words laden with regret and self-blame. He leans against the closed door, his eyes reflecting a mixture of anguish and longing. "All she wanted... was a family," he whispers, his voice tinged with sorrow. "A house on the beach, a dog, and children... If I had only helped her sooner, if I hadn't been so selfish to have left her... my sister wouldn't be dead."

My heart aches at his words, understanding the weight of his guilt, the burden he carries. I reach out, my fingers gently brushing against his arm, trying to offer him the comfort I know is so desperately needed.

"Ares," I say softly, my voice filled with compassion. "You can't blame yourself for what happened. We all carry our own regrets, our own what-ifs. But Maria knew how much you loved her. She knew."

His voice breaks, the vulnerability seeping through his every word. "Don't you understand?" he implores, his eyes searching mine for understanding. "She wanted my acceptance, my acknowledgment... she wanted me to see her, to truly see her. And I left her when she needed me the most."

Tears brim in my eyes as I meet his gaze, the pain in his confession piercing my own heart.

Words fail me as the weight of his anguish washes over me, threatening to drown us both. I long to take away his pain, to rewrite the past, but I am left with nothing but a shared sense of loss and regret.

I reach out, enveloping him in a tender embrace, offering what little solace I can. "Ares," I whisper, my voice quivering with emotion. "We all have our own struggles, our own shortcomings. Maria loved you deeply, and she would want you to find forgiveness within yourself. We cannot change the past, but we can honor her memory by cherishing the love we still have."