Chapter 4

"She' s suffering from severe psychological trauma, compounded by extreme stress. Her body is weak, and her mind is on the verge of collapse. She cannot, under any circumstances, be subjected to any more emotional shocks."

The family doctor' s voice was grave, echoing in the pristine white-walled bedroom. Dominic stood by the window, his back to the room, listening to the diagnosis. He felt a cold dread seep into his bones. On the verge of collapse. His fault.

He had been so consumed by his panic over Julia, he hadn't seen how fragile Hazel truly was. He' d seen her coldness, her defiance, and mistaken it for strength. He hadn' t seen the brokenness underneath.

The door creaked open. Julia stood there, supported by her mother. She was dressed in a white hospital gown, her face pale and tear-stained, looking like a wilting flower.

"Dominic," she whispered, her voice weak.

He rushed to her side. "Julia, you should be in bed."

Tears welled in her eyes. "I heard about Hazel. Is it my fault? Oh, Dominic, I' m so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen. I just... I couldn' t bear the thought of being sent away, of losing everyone."

She buried her face in his chest, her shoulders shaking with sobs. "Please, don' t blame Hazel. It' s me. I' m the one who caused all this trouble. Please, forgive her for my sake."

Her words were a masterclass in manipulation. She took the blame while painting herself as the magnanimous victim. Dominic felt a surge of frustration and helplessness. He was trapped between these two women, drowning in guilt.

"It wasn' t your fault, Julia," he murmured, stroking her hair.

She looked up at him, her eyes glistening. "I... I lost the baby, Dominic."

The words hit him like a physical blow. "What?"

"The stress... the doctor said..." she choked on a sob. "Our baby is gone. Because of me."

She wasn' t blaming Hazel directly, but the implication was clear. It was brilliant. It was cruel. And it worked. The guilt that had been a flicker in Dominic' s chest roared into an inferno. A baby. Their baby. Gone. And it was all tied back to Hazel' s demands.

Julia dabbed at her eyes with a delicate handkerchief. "I know it' s a strange thing to ask... but it would bring me some comfort."

Dominic was barely listening, his mind reeling. "What? What is it?"

"Hazel," Julia said, her voice barely a whisper. "She' s such a brilliant artist. Her work... it feels like it has a soul."

She looked towards the bed where Hazel lay, pale and still. "I was thinking... maybe she could create something for me. A piece of art. To commemorate our lost child. Something to... to bless its spirit on its journey."

The request was so bizarre, so out of place, that it took Dominic a moment to process. Art? Now?

"I know it sounds silly," Julia continued, sensing his hesitation. "But they say art made from a place of deep emotion has special power. And Hazel... she loved you so much. I' m sure she would understand. A small painting, perhaps. To help me find peace."

Dominic wrestled with the request. It felt wrong, morbid even. To ask Hazel, in her current state, to create art for the woman who had, in essence, destroyed their relationship?

But then he looked at Julia' s grief-stricken face. He thought of the child they had lost. A child he hadn' t even known existed until this moment. His responsibility, his guilt, was a crushing weight.

"She' s a very spiritual person," Julia added, her voice soft and persuasive. "I' m sure she' d want to create something to pray for the baby' s soul. She has such a kind heart."

Kind heart. The words twisted in Dominic' s gut. He had just accused that same kind heart of being inhuman. The guilt intensified. He had to make it right. He had to do something.

"Please, Dominic," Julia whispered, her hand tightening on his arm. "It' s the only thing that will help me heal."

He looked from her pleading face to Hazel' s still form. He felt torn, but Julia' s grief, her loss, felt more immediate, more tangible. It was a debt he felt he owed.

He took a deep breath. "Alright," he said, his voice strained. "I' ll ask her."

Julia' s eyes flashed with a brief, almost imperceptible glint of triumph before they filled with tears of gratitude again.

"And Dominic?" she said, a new, strange intensity in her voice. "There' s a specific medium I had in mind. Something that would make the piece... truly meaningful. Something to show her atonement is sincere."

Her eyes, cold and calculating for a split second, met his. The chill of her gaze was sharp and unsettling, a flicker of the real Julia beneath the fragile facade.