#acenadalia

As Nahi crested the hill that held the narrow pathway down to the ocean-view house known as the Dowager’s House, she saw the group gathered at the doorway: her stepfather, the two nurses who lived there, her cousin Hamdil, and strangers, though one looked familiar.

Nahilvi never liked to meet people on uneven footing, but there she was in her running clothes and nothing she could do about it. She slowed to a walk, neatened her ponytail, and calmed her breathing. Hamdil noticed her first and gave an apologetic look. Irenthalas and the nurses were all talking to the men there and Nahi tried to puzzle out what had drawn this to her doorstep.

Hamdil turned to the men standing there. “Magister, this is Lady Nahilvi Summerhold.”

The use of her title told her exactly what type of issue she was looking at, at least. Drawing on every ounce of stage presence and authority, she stepped forward, placing herself just ahead of Irenthalas, not to diminish him, but to shield him.

One of the men at the front, wearing the red and gold livery of the city guard with the higher insignia of rank, stepped forward as though she were a threat. She addressed him first. “Captain, is there something wrong here?”

A man in a Magister’s robe spoke instead. “Ah, Miss Summerhold. I was hoping to see you.” He did not introduce himself, merely looked her over with a superior look at her attire. With his power worn like a mantle, he positioned himself above everyone in social power.

She had seen him before, though the name eluded her. Hamdil recognized that she was at. Slight disadvantage and helped immediately. “Magistrate Palecrown and his retinue.”

City guards to give him weight, to make his words carry more authority. She inclined her head only as far as courtesy required. “Magistrate. Would you care to come in for tea?” Making it clear that she was a respectful hostess,not a threat, the guards with him relaxed at her offer.

“No. We are here to inform you that you are to cease and desist any action concerning the Summerhold estate.” That explained Hamdil’s apology. This had to have come from his father.

Her polite smile remained, chin lifting slightly, a warning to those who knew her well. “On whose authority? I am Lord Mianos Summerhold’s daughter. My mother was Aecandalia ‘the Diva.’ These lands were left to her upon my father’s death, after they followed Prince Kael’thas to build a power meant to protect our people.” Everyone knew how that had ended. “I was appointed by the courts of Silvermoon as her guardian when her health failed.”

The full explanation was for the crowd, not the man. He knew exactly who she was. She placed him now, Hoovanil’s ally, a fixture at noble functions, including some of those in Suramar she performed at, but not too many of those, the Shal’dorei could be selective in their invitations.

“No one questions that you are your mother’s daughter. But with her death, you no longer have the right to make decisions for the property, including who resides here.”

Hamdil bristled. “She is Uncle Mianos’s only child. The estate belongs to her.”

Palecrown’s lip curled, that was exactly what he needed to make the exclamation to show why he was there. “Ah, but that is precisely the matter in question. There is testimony that her father is not who she claims.”

The words struck her square in the chest, old rumors, finally being given some place to be believed. Her uncle had whispered this her whole life. The thought that he would weaponize it shouldn’t have surprised her, her polite smile never waver, she refused to let them see her true feelings.

The guards shifted as Hamdil stepped forward, fists clenched. “That is utter bullshit. She is as much Mianos’s daughter as I am Hoovanil Summerhold’s son. You can leave this estate immediately.”

Guards moved to intercept him, the Magistrate never took his eyes off Nahi.

“Hamdil.” Her voice cut cleanly, measured, and he stilled. Even the guards hesitated. “Fighting would only cause more issues. Ultimately it will be settled in the courts.”

“I’m glad you’re being reasonable, Miss Nahilvi.” Palecrown said with another sneer.

“With a pending case, your authority extends only to serve the papers, Magistrate.” She made an assumption as she didn’t know exactly his power.

His scowl told her she was correct. “Your guests may not remove property from the estate.”

“How would you know what they brought and what was here ready? Do you have and estate ratified inventory filed with the courts?” she asked sweetly. Nahi had done one as Fio suggested when she had made her Uncle Hoovanil and his family leave. Mostly so she could note what they took with them. 

He did not have one, there had been no time to do anything of the sort. 

“I will make sure to provide such a copy to the courts,” she continued, turning her gaze deliberately toward the Captain, softening. “The nurses cared for my mother until her death recently. They will take their belongings and personal effects, but this is the only place they have lived for a year, they came here with us after Dalaran fell.” Playing on that sympathy card was not above her, the intention was to garner a favorable outcome for those she cared for.

The Captain’s expression shifted, but Palecrown took control back. “They may take their things, but I expect you to provide that the list.”

She was winning this polite battle, his support was fading making him look like a petty dictator lording over a family in mourning.

Irenthalas’s hand settled on her shoulder. She turned, genuine sadness in her eyes. “Pack some things, Iren. You can stay with me in the city.”

“Ah, yes,” Palecrown added smoothly. “The city residence you occupy was purchased while you managed the estate. It will be seized pending resolution as it is part of your mother’s property.”

That finally made foundation rock, stealing her breath for a moment. It made her feel truly shattered and she couldn’t hide it, even if it was a point scored for the Magistrate, yet she replied calmly, “I see, but yet again you have no ability to tell me what I can, or can not do in that time. I bought the house and everything in it.”

“Do you have records?”

“I do.” Nahi kept organized records, the legal machinations she had used to take care of her mother’s finances and the card of the estate had taught her that. 

His glare deepened. He shoved the papers he had been holding into her chest with just a hint of force, but she acted like it was more letting herself stumble back. The Captain caught her arm to steady her.

“Thank you, my lord,” she murmured, meeting his eyes, then letting her gaze fall away.” The Magistrate hadn’t been ready for her defense of his little show, she was too good of a performer to let him steal the spotlight.

The Magistrate’s eyes burned. “The court date is three weeks from today. File your counsel’s name and your documentation within one.” Then he turned and began to stride off.

The guard captain dipped his head to her before following, it looked like he wanted to say something but his duty overrode that.

Nahi stood watching them until they disappeared over the hill. Only then did she take Irenthalas’s hand and led him back into the house. She glanced down at the papers in her other hand, then tucked them into her bag. “They can’t make you leave immediately. We have until the eighteenth.” Her jaw tightened. “I don’t know what the court will decide, so it’s best we prepare for every outcome.”

Turning to Irenthalas, she took both his hands and gathered what warmth and certainty she could. “I know this has been your home since Dalaran, but until the court decides, perhaps it’s best you don’t stay here. You can come stay with me in the city, or we can find you an inn. Whatever you need.”

He squeezed her hands and looked around the room, nodding slowly. “A break may help. There are good memories here, and bad. I’ll pack a few things. Once we’re out, we can decide.”

“That’s a good plan.” Her smile held, but her nerves were on edge, “I need to speak to my solicitors today. Three weeks isn’t far off, and I need to know our best path forward.”

She stepped onto the deck overlooking the sea while he went to pack. Hamdil joined her, jaw tight, anger radiating from him. For a long moment he said nothing, then the words came sharp and furious. “They’re going to call you a bastard. That’s absurd. Father’s lost his mind.”

“He passes rumors,” she said quietly. “Rumors alone won’t convince the court. They may sway Palecrown, but he wouldn’t bring this without something to support it.” Her mind shifted fully into analysis. “I don’t know what they have. The midwife is still alive, I think. There were staff present when I was born. I can find them.”

“I’ll speak for you,” Hamdil said immediately. “I was there.”

She leaned into him, grateful for the arm he placed around her shoulders. “You were a child,” she said gently. “You wouldn’t have known.”

“This is bullshit, Nahi,” he snapped, turning to lean against the glass railing, ocean at his back. “You don’t even want this place, and you’ve still cared for it better than Father ever did. They have to see that.”

“The courts don’t always weigh care,” she replied. “If they’re impartial, they’ll follow the law. If they’re not, it becomes harder to prove what matters.”

He turned back to her, rage simmering. “Do you want me to talk to father?”

She placed a hand on his arm. “Only if you want to, and only if you can do it calmly.”

They both knew that would be difficult. His father had betrayed him deeply. She didn’t blame Hamdil for his anger.

“He’s betrothed now,” she added softly. “That gives him allies. Noble marriages create leverage.”

Her shoulders sagged, just slightly. “I’ll figure this out. I always do. I just need more information.”

Irenthalas came down the stairs with a case, the nurses following behind. The eldest woman spoke first. “We’ll come back for the rest later, Nahi. Less friction now is best.”

Nahi turned to them with a grateful smile. “Thank you. Reach out to Hamdil when you return, they didn’t ask him to leave.” Likely his father’s doing.

She turned to her cousin, apology in her eyes. “I’m sorry. That leaves you managing the house.”

He met her gaze and nodded. “I’ll keep things running. I’ll reach out if I have questions.”

For a heartbeat, anger flared, she wanted to snap, to tell him to call his father since this was his mess but she swallowed it. It wasn’t Hamdil’s fault. She wouldn’t lose control now.

“She is not sure, Nahi,” Irenthalas said, shoulders slightly slumped.

Nahi looked at her stepfather. “So she’s getting worse. The decline is so gradual the new specialist can’t say how long until she loses everything? And she can’t heal her?”

He only gave her a knowing look, quiet, saying everything without words.

“I know,” Nahi muttered. “If she could be healed, you, or the dozen specialists before, would have done it.”

It had been nearly twenty years since her mother’s injury at Tempest Keep. Weeks in a coma, then the struggle of learning simple things again. Even back then, Nahi had known something was broken deep within her.

Iren patted Nahi’s shoulder. “She lasted longer than most expected.”

Was that a good thing, though? The thought came unbidden, and guilt followed quickly, not for herself, not even for her mother, but for Iren. He loved her to distraction. If Nahi hadn’t spent so many years helping her mother prepare for performances, hadn’t seen firsthand who Acenadalia truly kept company with, she might have believed he and her mother had been lovers, so fierce was his devotion.

“It’s just… frustrating,” Nahi said, voice tight, “to hear the same bad news again and again.”

“You’re studying medicine now. You know there are limits.”

“Yes, but we have magic! She isn’t a spellbreaker…” Her words caught, frustration burning out into a sigh. She already knew the answer. That didn’t make it easier to swallow.

Her feelings swung wildly when it came to her mother. The Diva had been difficult, often cruel and abusive, in her youth Nahi had wished her harm more than once. But not like this. Never like this. Perhaps that was why she felt so bound to care for her now, ironic that a woman who demanded attention her whole life had found herself with an illness that required it endlessly.

She stepped forward and embraced him, feeling the shudder in his chest, the crack in his composure.

“I don’t want her to go, Nahi,” he whispered.

How he could say that, after living this slow-motion nightmare for so long, was beyond her. Caring for someone with dementia was a trial of patience, and watching them fade piece by piece was its own torture.

“I know, Iren.” She couldn’t bring herself to lie and pretend she wanted the same. Instead, she just held him, offering what strength she could.

It was done, finally. His sister-in-law had been laid to rest and, to his surprise, Nahilvi had invited both him and Banictusia to attend. Hamdil had been there as well, glaring with a jaw clenched tight enough to crack stone. The anger his son held for him would pass with time, he was sure. 

Hoovanil had not taken his betrothed. He did not want her to see the estate; not in its current state. It still needed a lot of work, nothing like the treasured family legacy he had explained it as. If she learned that Acenadalia had been alive all this time, she would have wanted an explanation as to why he had not brought the operatic star to her parties. Certainly she would have expected him to convince the Diva to perform at them. In that regard, he agreed with Nahilvi’s choice to keep her mother hidden. Explaining the Diva’s memory troubles, and her status as the estate’s true heir, would have been more effort than it was worth.

He had not told his daughter, Tirorastraza, about the funeral. The girl was sweet, but she was not smart, and newly married. There was no chance she could have explained the family situation to her husband well enough to handle all the questions he surely would have had, and the fewer people who knew about their troubles, the better.

The service itself had been small. Deliberately so, Nahilvi had clearly curated the guest list. She made the introductions: most were staff who worked the estate or as nurses with Acen. Then there was Acenadalia’s new husband Irenthalas, a woman named Tinnaire, and a Shal’dorei noble presented as Viscount Jes’champe Vidroth. Neither of them had any obvious connection to his sister-in-law. Hoovanil assumed they were Nahilvi’s lovers, why else would they be the only outsiders present?

The ceremony was brief but touching. Afterward, his niece sang. Her voice was lovely, impressively so, a clear echo of her mother’s talent, then, the guests were led to a small buffet laid out on the estate’s patio. It gave Hoovanil the opportunity to take in the gardens properly. They were beautiful, restored to something close to what they had been in his youth. Banictusia would entertain well here once she returned to the property.

He spoke very little with Nahilvi or Hamdil. What words were exchanged were cordial. Nahilvi thanked him sincerely for coming, treating him like he was merely another attendee, not family at all. The small slight burned, though he probably would never have invited her if the shoe was on the other foot. He wanted to say something about her theft of his property, but that would only serve in sparking his ire, instead he held his temper.

Banictusia did not. She cornered Hamdil near the edge of the patio, her voice sharp enough to draw attention. When it looked as though the argument might turn into a scene, Hoovanil moved toward them. He arrived just in time to hear the accusation, Banictusia was claiming Hamdil had been sleeping with Nahilvi.

Hamdil’s anger flared visibly. He said nothing in reply, only clenched his fists before turning and storming off. It was for the best, it was better that the matter ended there before his lover completely lost control of her tongue. Hoovanil took Banictusia by the elbow and steered her away. Together, they offered their respects one final time and departed.

By this time next week, the estate would be his again. Nahilvi’s legal manipulations would collapse, and he would ensure that she never set foot on the property again. The thought drew a small smile to his lips. He was very much looking forward to the future.

Nahi sat on her patio, a quilt wrapped around her long legs. She hadn’t been home except to pick up clean clothes in a week, and she missed its calming effect on her. As beautiful and serene as the Dowager’s house usually was, there was no peace there for her. Maybe in the future there would be, but she felt unsettled while she was there.

Swirling a glass of bourbon, the large ice cube clicking against the cut glass quietly, she laid her head back, just breathing and letting the sounds of the city in the background fill the space around her. All week her thoughts felt like they were bouncing around in her head, making her unable to pick one out to focus on.

Nahi had prepared the burial site beforehand, placing candles out for people to light, and she hung suncatchers in the trees that encircled the space. It looked beautiful in her opinion, warming the space around her mother’s casket where it stood ready for people to come and say goodbye.

Nahilvi had dressed in deep charcoal, with accents of red and gold throughout, honoring the blood of their people and the Light. She wasn’t a person with a strong religious connection but Irenthalas was, and if the imagery helped him, then she would honor his beliefs.

As people began to appear, she greeted them, ever the hostess, even at this time. The one other surprise, other than her family coming out, was Jes’champe. A frown had furrowed her brow, but then smoothed as she offered him the same pleasant smile that she had with the other attendees.

Irenthalas walked forward and welcomed him, explaining to Nahi that he had invited her occasional lover for his own support. Once she heard that, she understood. The two men had become friends since that first night that Jes had crashed Nahi and Iren’s dinner out.

Her smile warmed with Irenthalas’s explanation. She was glad the man was there to offer his support for Iren, as Tinnaire was for her. When her friend had arrived she had come to Nahi, offering a warm hug, then holding her hand when they settled around the casket. That may have been the only way Nahi hadn’t fallen apart.

Hoovanil and Banictusia appeared down the pathway much to her surprise. She had sent them a polite notice but assumed that they would have no interest in paying respects. Looking to Hamdil, she noticed the fire in his eyes and she didn’t blame him, afterall it wasn’t everyday that you had to see your  father and wife together after finding out they were lovers. 

The ceremony the priest prepared was lovely, just enough pomp and circumstance to highlight the woman laid before them. They had all lit candles and placed them on the tables around the grave as he spoke. A small procession of those who remembered Acenadalia and wanted to show their respects had left the space warmly lit. 

As the priest finished, Nahi squeezed Tinn’s hand, then moved to the space he had held. Closing her eyes, she began to sing. The piece was something her mother’s longtime pianist had written for the Diva. It had never been performed. Nahi had found it in a book of music when they were clearing out the house in Dalaran along with a number of others he had composed.

Her voice carried across the space, clean and powerful. She had been told that her voice was not as magical as her mother’s, but this was the best way to honor her in Nahi’s opinion. As she sang, a small breeze moved the pieces of glass around them, refractions making colors dance over those gathered. It made for a poetic scene worthy of her mother who loved being the center of attention.

After the services, people moved to the estate patio for a small buffet. Nahi had been careful with her invitations; there were just not many people who knew her mother survived the fall of Tempest Keep. Those that cared for her medically, her nurses and a couple of doctors, the family, and a couple of their friends.

It was a pleasant gathering, people exchanging stories or reflecting on Acenadalia’s life. Some had seen her perform before her injury, and they spoke of the majesty of her presence on stage. The family spoke of personal moments, and Nahi felt like the moment was a lovely send-off.

Jes had stayed close to Iren or her. During the service he had stood behind them, placing a hand on Iren’s shoulder at the same time Nahi had taken her step-father’s hand when he began to show signs of breaking down. She had looked back at the Shal’dorei with a small nod; she was glad he was there.

When they were gathered on the patio, he didn’t exactly loom, but being over a foot taller than everyone there made him stand out, as did his perfectly cut suit. She jokingly called him Mr. P for his presence, and it wasn’t something he could just turn off.

The only moment that things became awkward was when Banictusia decided to talk with Hamdil about their divorce. The woman had never been the most polite, but choosing the funeral as the right time to confront him surprised Nahi. Hoovanil had been the one to step in to handle the situation as Banictusia’s voice began to rise. Nahi caught a word or two of what she was upset about, catching her own name in there before her uncle managed to get her under control, after which Hamdil excused himself from the group.

If Nahi hadn’t been clinging to her control so tightly, she might have said something, but she was aware of how easily any strong emotion might tip her emotional balance. Instead, she turned her back on the situation and guided one of the nurses to the buffet because she hadn’t eaten yet.

It had been taxing, but she was glad it was over. That was the last of the tasks she had that were emotionally based. All she had to do now was handle the legal side of everything and her barristers assured her that it would all go smoothly.

Tuesday she would address all of that, tonight and Monday were for her to not deal with the fallout of her mother’s death for the first time in too many days. It was something she sorely needed.

She wants to, but never seems to get a moment with him. She will have to make an appointment though because it feels important to her to have some peace for her mother before she passes.

The weekend had been overly busy, even by Nahi’s standards. By the time she got home Sunday, she was truly exhausted. She hadn’t felt this way in a while, drained in both body and mind, yet her thoughts wouldn’t stop racing.

Sighing, she made tea and added a splash of whisky. Snagging the last of her cookies from Scary Cakes, those deep-fried ones she was sure she wouldn’t like, putting them on a plate and stepped out onto her patio. Curling up on her favorite cushion, she let out a slow breath.

The play, written by her friend, a friend only recently awakened from a ten-thousand-year sleep, lingered in her thoughts. Maybe he didn’t know, but the others should have told him, shouldn’t they? Told him that the topic wouldn’t sit well.

Maybe she should tell him.

She would tell him.

Hopefully, that is if she could find a way to meet with him. She never saw him outside the nights one of them performed. Maybe she could write, invite him for tea.

She sipped her drink and nibbled at a cookie, gazing up at the stars. Nahi should have been studying, and she would, just not yet. Her mind already felt so full she wasn’t sure she could fit another thought in it. The sad part was that the ones taking up space weren’t pleasant.

Friday night had been a reprieve, unexpected but welcome. It was nice, for part of the night at least, just a small break. She was glad she’d gone, it had been fun.

But ever since her conversation with Irenthalas last week, her thoughts had been spiraling. Even his visit for dinner hadn’t eased them. She’d spoken to her mother’s neurologist on Thursday, who’d told her that even if Acenadalia was non-verbal, she might still feel emotion when she saw Nahi. 

The doctor also explained that being non-verbal meant the end was near.  There was no way to know how near, not until it was shortly before the end, sometimes a couple of weeks, sometimes within hours.

When she finished her tea, Nahi went inside and reached for the whiskey bottle. She poured her mug full, then paused. Taking a deep breath, she poured the alcohol down the sink and made herself a fresh cup of tea instead.

TW: Death, Suicide

Nahi had been dragging herself through a class she dreaded since she got her curriculum when she started school: Nursing for the Geriatric. For almost twenty years, she had lived this reality with her mother. According to healers, Acenadalia was “near death” for five years from her dementia, and before that her eroding memory was a near constant aspect of Nahi’s life.

All week she had been working in a retirement home for elderly soldiers for her class. Most of the time it was lovely, simply keeping company with fighters who no longer wanted the burden of a house, or whose injuries and ailments required consistent care that they had no one to help with. Many of them just wanted someone to talk to, and Nahi was good at that. She used her performer’s charm to coax stories of battles long past, her flirtatious wit to draw out smiles. Other times she simply sat quietly with someone who hadn’t been listened to in years and let them tell her anything they wanted.

The last day was the hardest. She shadowed the head nurse in the memory care wing. Her stomach had been knotted from the moment she walked in, yet after the first hour, her focus wasn’t even on the painful echoes of her mother anymore. What gutted her was seeing these proud veterans who had fought and lived such full lives, reduced to fragments, lost in their own heads like a house of mirrors they could not escape, unreachable.

And she couldn't forget that it was Acenadalia’s world now. Trapped inside, screaming for someone to understand, or maybe she was gone already, drifting in a fog where none of it mattered?

Would Nahi want to live like that, half-present, half-lost? No. She wouldn’t. The performer would rather take her own life, or have someone do it for her, than linger in that kind of living torture.

The thought stayed with her, quiet but insistent. She pushed it aside during the day, focusing on her work. But at home, with a glass of whisky in hand, it broke free.

If she wouldn’t want that existence, why would her mother?

The questions spiraled. Was Acenadalia aware at all, or was she long past knowing? Would death be mercy, or betrayal? Would ending her suffering be an act of compassion, or of selfishness?

And if Irenthalas ever found out, would it destroy him? And others? Would they understand? Or would they punish her, as the law would surely deem fair?

Hours blurred past with the slow, steady emptying of an expensive bottle of whisky. In the end, it came down to one question Nahi couldn’t shake: What is it actually like so close to death inside the head of someone with dementia?

That thought pointed her to something she had thought of before, but resisted: she needed to talk to someone who understood end-of-life care, and she already had a resource in her circle.

She lurched to her feet, swaying dangerously, and made her way to a stack of notebooks. Tearing a jagged scrap of paper out, something the neat, organized woman would hate the next day. Grabbing for a pencil, she dropped  it immediately, then crawled under the table in pursuit. After hitting her head twice on the table runners, she emerged, triumphant, holding the pencil aloft.

“Tah da!” she announced far too loudly, then immediately shushed herself.

Slumping over the table, she scrawled a note in a messy hand: See Zenith.

The pencil rolled away when she sat it back down as if mocking her, making her frown but then waved a hand at it, before she staggered toward the couch. Sitting down, she tipped sideways and passed out, the crumpled note waiting for her tomorrow self to handle. (Mention of @zenithnightbane )

“You could come out to the house, you know,” Irenthalas said easily from his seat at Nahi’s kitchen table. His casual tone carried a hint of tension, as if he wanted to press harder but knew better.

Nahi lifted her head from her textbook. She had asked him over to help her study and share dinner, not to revisit this subject again. “I could,” she said, “but I don’t think it’s any better an idea now than it was before.”

Setting down his teacup, he looked into her eyes. “She doesn’t have long, Nahi. You should see her at least once more.”

Nahi slid a piece of cream paper into the book to mark her place, then picked up her water, refusing to break eye contact. She hated this conversation, hated it because facing it meant facing the truth. Her relationship with her mother had been twisted long before the accident and the dementia. To call it complicated was generous; toxic was more accurate.

Still, when Acenadalia was injured and could no longer care for herself, Nahi had stepped in. For nearly twenty years her life had revolved around her mother. Pity had dulled the sharper edges of pain, and she had tried, Light, she had tried, to be a good daughter. Even when her mother’s failing mind let slip the words she had buried for decades. Dementia had no filter, and Nahi had been forced to hear the venom repeated again and again, each hateful word digging into her like roots of an ancient tree.

“I’m not sure it would be good for either of us,” she said quietly. Freedom had finally come when her mother was settled into the Dowager’s cottage with nurses to tend her. For the first time in her life, Nahi had been able to breathe.

Iren reached across the table and took her hand. “Talk to your therapist. I doubt he’d say that avoiding this is good for you.”

She didn’t believe that for a second, but the look in her stepfather’s eyes stilled her tongue. This mattered to him. Refusing yet again felt cruel, selfish, even. And selfish was a word she had spent decades trying to outgrow.

“Maybe later, Iren.” She didn’t bother with excuses; he already knew the truth. “It’s just too painful.”

“My dearest daughter,  she doesn’t have enough time left for you to wait until it doesn’t hurt.” His tone was gentle, but firm.

His persistence only drove her further inward. Her thoughts bolted like a spooked horse, desperate to escape. Outwardly, she went still, focusing on her breath, clinging to composure. “I understand,” she managed. “I’ll… see what I can do.”

He patted her hand. “You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

A cold dread swelled inside her. She couldn’t tell if it came from imagining her mother dying without seeing her one last time, or from the thought of seeing her again, and being crushed by the guilt of having stepped away in these final months.

“Maybe,” she whispered at last.