Stand-In Heiress's Last Sunflower Blooms in Graveyards - Chapter 14: Chapter 14
You are reading Stand-In Heiress's Last Sunflower Blooms in Graveyards, Chapter 14: Chapter 14. Read more chapters of Stand-In Heiress's Last Sunflower Blooms in Graveyards.
"SKYLAR!"
Timothy's desperate scream tore through the hospital corridor as he crashed through the door, just in time to watch the heart monitor flatline into a cruel, steady red.
Jayden stared at his watch through a haze of tears, his medical training forcing him to record what his heart couldn't accept:
"January 10th, 3:32 PM. Patient Skylar Madden, age twenty-six, deceased from complications of acute leukemia."
The words felt like swallowing glass.
Timothy collapsed beside her bed, his whole body shaking as he gripped her still-warm hand.
His voice came out broken: "No more pain, baby. You don't hurt anymore."
She looked so small, so fragile—nothing like the radiant girl who used to chase him through sunflower fields, always laughing, always bright.
When was the last time he'd seen her really smile? He couldn't remember, and that realization nearly destroyed him.
Rachel and Timothy handled the funeral arrangements in numb silence.
They dressed Skylar in her favorite white sundress—not some grim funeral outfit, but the dress she'd worn to their first date. Her face was peaceful for the first time in months.
On the drive to the crematorium, Rachel finally spoke:
"Timothy, do you know what Skylar's dying wishes were?"
Timothy couldn't find his voice.
Rachel's tears started fresh: "She wanted to eat that spicy Mexican chicken one last time. She wanted to see the lantern installations in Chinatown during Lunar New Year—you know, those artist residency pieces they do on Mott Street every year? The ones with the lion dances?"
Her voice shattered completely: "And she... she wanted to watch you get married. She wanted to see you happy."
Timothy's jaw clenched so hard it hurt. He dug his nails deep enough into his palms to draw blood, anything to keep from falling apart.
*I know why you left,* his mind screamed. *I know you lied about Jayden to make me give up on you. I know you thought you were setting me free.*
*But how the fuck am I supposed to call any life without you "living"? You destroyed me with one sentence five years ago. Vanished without a trace. Came back just to tell me you were dying.*
*How am I supposed to accept that? How am I supposed to let you go?*
At the crematorium, Rachel clutched Skylar's photo like a lifeline—twenty-six forever, still beautiful, still smiling.
The waiting room was sterile and cold. Muffled sobbing echoed off institutional walls, mixing with the mechanical hum of industrial furnaces turning people into ash.
Timothy's world ended when the intercom crackled: "Cremation of Skylar Madden is complete. Next of kin may collect the remains."
*She fits in a box now. A small pink box.*
They'd chosen a plot overlooking the East River, where sunflowers would bloom in summer.
*She hated being cold, and she died in fucking winter.*
Rachel held the urn against her chest, refusing to let Timothy carry it.
Back in his dark apartment, Timothy pulled out the photograph he'd carried for seven years—New Year's Eve, age nineteen. Skylar had written on their balloon: "Timothy & Skylar Forever."
He collapsed onto his couch, remembering that winter night when she'd looked up at him with her nose red from cold, curled against his chest.
"Where do you think balloons go when they fly away?"
He'd kissed her forehead so gently: "Maybe they find their way to heaven."
She'd looked sad then: "I read somewhere that if angels see your wish before it gets there, the balloon loses its magic and falls back to earth."
*Now you're the angel, Skylar. Now you can catch all the wishes that make it to the stars.*
Timothy's phone buzzed, shattering his grief.
The precinct was calling.
"Goldstein? We caught that piece of shit who assaulted Skylar Madden. You need to get down here. Now."
Timothy's desperate scream tore through the hospital corridor as he crashed through the door, just in time to watch the heart monitor flatline into a cruel, steady red.
Jayden stared at his watch through a haze of tears, his medical training forcing him to record what his heart couldn't accept:
"January 10th, 3:32 PM. Patient Skylar Madden, age twenty-six, deceased from complications of acute leukemia."
The words felt like swallowing glass.
Timothy collapsed beside her bed, his whole body shaking as he gripped her still-warm hand.
His voice came out broken: "No more pain, baby. You don't hurt anymore."
She looked so small, so fragile—nothing like the radiant girl who used to chase him through sunflower fields, always laughing, always bright.
When was the last time he'd seen her really smile? He couldn't remember, and that realization nearly destroyed him.
Rachel and Timothy handled the funeral arrangements in numb silence.
They dressed Skylar in her favorite white sundress—not some grim funeral outfit, but the dress she'd worn to their first date. Her face was peaceful for the first time in months.
On the drive to the crematorium, Rachel finally spoke:
"Timothy, do you know what Skylar's dying wishes were?"
Timothy couldn't find his voice.
Rachel's tears started fresh: "She wanted to eat that spicy Mexican chicken one last time. She wanted to see the lantern installations in Chinatown during Lunar New Year—you know, those artist residency pieces they do on Mott Street every year? The ones with the lion dances?"
Her voice shattered completely: "And she... she wanted to watch you get married. She wanted to see you happy."
Timothy's jaw clenched so hard it hurt. He dug his nails deep enough into his palms to draw blood, anything to keep from falling apart.
*I know why you left,* his mind screamed. *I know you lied about Jayden to make me give up on you. I know you thought you were setting me free.*
*But how the fuck am I supposed to call any life without you "living"? You destroyed me with one sentence five years ago. Vanished without a trace. Came back just to tell me you were dying.*
*How am I supposed to accept that? How am I supposed to let you go?*
At the crematorium, Rachel clutched Skylar's photo like a lifeline—twenty-six forever, still beautiful, still smiling.
The waiting room was sterile and cold. Muffled sobbing echoed off institutional walls, mixing with the mechanical hum of industrial furnaces turning people into ash.
Timothy's world ended when the intercom crackled: "Cremation of Skylar Madden is complete. Next of kin may collect the remains."
*She fits in a box now. A small pink box.*
They'd chosen a plot overlooking the East River, where sunflowers would bloom in summer.
*She hated being cold, and she died in fucking winter.*
Rachel held the urn against her chest, refusing to let Timothy carry it.
Back in his dark apartment, Timothy pulled out the photograph he'd carried for seven years—New Year's Eve, age nineteen. Skylar had written on their balloon: "Timothy & Skylar Forever."
He collapsed onto his couch, remembering that winter night when she'd looked up at him with her nose red from cold, curled against his chest.
"Where do you think balloons go when they fly away?"
He'd kissed her forehead so gently: "Maybe they find their way to heaven."
She'd looked sad then: "I read somewhere that if angels see your wish before it gets there, the balloon loses its magic and falls back to earth."
*Now you're the angel, Skylar. Now you can catch all the wishes that make it to the stars.*
Timothy's phone buzzed, shattering his grief.
The precinct was calling.
"Goldstein? We caught that piece of shit who assaulted Skylar Madden. You need to get down here. Now."
End of Stand-In Heiress's Last Sunflower Blooms in Graveyards Chapter 14. Continue reading Chapter 15 or return to Stand-In Heiress's Last Sunflower Blooms in Graveyards book page.