Chapter 6 What Remains After the Storm

POV Scarlett:

After the Storm

“I don’t love him.” I say with the coldest tone I can manage.

“I love Cole—and as he made very clear, it was just sex.” I give one last look at each of his brothers before locking my eyes on Asher. “Just like it was with you, Asher. Only sex.”

The pain in his eyes makes me want to fall to my knees and take it all back, makes me want to tell him everything I’ve been through this past week. But I can’t. I need to be strong. I need to leave this place and never look back.

And that’s exactly what I do.

I walk away without turning around, tears streaming down my face as I hear Asher screaming my name behind me. His brothers hold him back, keeping him from reaching me.

It hurts, but it has to be done.

At least, that’s what I try to believe.

One Month Later

I help my mother lie down on the hospital bed. I know how exhausted the chemotherapy leaves her, which is why I make sure to stay by her side—covering her with care and love. Being with her is the only thing that’s been able to soothe me, to silence the suffering for a little while.

“It still hurts how everything ended with Logan, Dylan, Cole, and Asher. I miss them every single day.”And when I think about the cruel words I said to Asher, I hate myself for letting him believe I didn’t love him.

As punishment—for hurting the one person who didn’t deserve it—I keep replaying, over and over, the words his brothers said to me that day.

If I’m still standing, it’s because of my mother. For her. And only for her.

I can still hear my father’s voice, the way he told me about my mother’s illness with that awful indifference. The choice he forced me to make. The silent plea in my mother’s eyes begging me not to make a mistake.

It was too much.

My body was still bleeding, still aching from his blows when I made my decision. But I know I made the right one.

“Your eyes still show pain and sadness,” my mother says, breaking my focus as I fluff her pillows. I freeze. I don’t want to go there—not to the subject that tears me apart.

“I still don’t understand your choice,” she adds, her tone calm but firm.

“What?” I turn to her, skeptical.

“Why didn’t you choose them, my love?”

I shake my head, unable to believe she’s asking this.

“I always knew what you had with those brothers,” she continues softly. “I never said anything because it wasn’t my place. But I wish you had trusted me enough to tell me.”

My lips part, but no words come out.

“Mom…”

“You love them, and you’re suffering.” She raises her hand, gently touching my cheek. “I may not be the best mother in the world, but I’ll always want your happiness. And right now, you’re not happy.”

“For me, you are the best mother in the world. And I’m happy to be by your side.” I kiss the palm of her hand. “I love them—it hurts—but it’ll pass. I could never be happy knowing I chose them over my sick mother.”

“I’m dying,” she says softly. “If you had chosen them, I would’ve died knowing my daughter was where her heart belongs.

Tears escape despite my effort to hold them back. Her words are beautiful—but she’s wrong. My heart belongs to them, yes. But theirs don’t belong to me.

“Mom, I’m where I’m supposed to be,” I say finally, ending the conversation. “Now rest. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

I kiss her forehead and sit down beside her. It doesn’t take long before she drifts into sleep.

All that’s left for me to do is take the book from my bag and lose myself in its pages—just to forget my pain for a while.

Five Months Later

In silence, I watch my mother’s coffin being lowered into the ground. The pain is excruciating—like my soul is being torn apart. I never thought I could endure this much.

But after everything I saw her go through, this is nothing.

The only comfort I have is knowing she went peacefully. Her fight was inspiring. Even when the doctor said she had only a few months left, my mother fought every day. She never gave up.

I wipe my tears and swallow hard when I feel my father’s eyes on me. With the little courage I have left, I lift my head and meet his gaze—cold, sharp, hateful.

My father hasn’t been the same since the day he found out about me and the Hawthorne brothers. Since then, all I’ve received from him are harsh words and bitter silence.

I try to stay strong, convincing myself it’s just a phase—that he’ll forgive me one day, that we’ll be able to support each other through our grief.

But every day that passes, I lose more of that hope.

“That,” he says suddenly, his voice trembling with fury, “is your fault.”

My legs weaken at the venom in his tone.

“Your mother died of shame—for having a daughter who’s a whore. A worthless daughter who sleeps with four men like it’s the most natural thing in the world.”

The weight of guilt crushes me, heavier than before.

“I’m sorry… for her loss,” I whisper. “But my mother’s death isn’t my fault. It’s no one’s fault.”

I walk around the grave to stand beside him, reaching for his hand gently. “We’ll get through this together.”

“I’m disgusted by you,” he spits, jerking his hand away. “Don’t ever touch me again.”

He turns his back and walks away, leaving me alone.

I cry silently beside the grave until the last handful of dirt covers it. Then I kneel, placing a single lily on the soil—her favorite flower.

It’s my goodbye.

Slowly, I walk away, step by step, my body heavy with grief. I’m in no rush to go home. I’m in no rush for anything.

All I want right now is for the world to stop—just long enough for me to cry for days, for nights… until there’s nothing left of me.

When I finally get home, that’s exactly what I do.