Chapter 6: Saying Goodbye to My Daughter
Seraphina's POV
The chaos in the emergency wing crashed over me like a tidal wave. The frantic footsteps of medical staff, the urgent voices calling out orders, the beeping of machines—it all blurred together as I sat frozen.
"Mrs. Ravencroft? Are you with me?"
A white-coated doctor was waving his hand in front of my face. I snapped back to reality, my voice trembling as I asked, "My daughter—how is she?"
The doctor's face grew somber. "We've stabilized her for now, but her condition is deteriorating rapidly. The situation is quite grave, I'm afraid. We need to move her to intensive care immediately. Once her vitals are stable, we'll reassess the possibility of surgery."
He hesitated, his eyes shifting away from mine momentarily. "Mrs. Ravencroft, given Isolde's current state, the surgery might not—"
I understood. The surgery might not help. It might already be too late.
"I understand, Doctor. Thank you."
As I turned away, tears burst forth like water from a broken dam. I crumpled into a corner of the hallway, arms wrapped tightly around myself, feeling a despair more profound than anything I'd ever known.
I sat beside Isolde's bed in the ICU, wearing the sterile protective gear provided by the hospital. Looking at her paper-white face and the tubes snaking from her tiny body, I could feel her small life slipping away with each labored breath.
"Isolde, I'm so sorry," I whispered, my voice breaking. "This is all Mommy's fault. If I had never fallen in love with your father, would things have been completely different?"
My mind drifted back to the past—meeting Dorian at Yale, our first encounter, and later marrying him at Thorne's arrangement. I regretted loving the wrong man, making my innocent Isolde pay the price for my mistakes.
I gently held her delicate little hand, the pain in my chest so intense I could barely breathe.
My phone vibrated in my pocket, forcing me to temporarily leave the ICU. In the corridor of the hospital, I found Mr. Parker standing there with a grave expression. My face immediately darkened.
Forcing myself to remain composed, I asked, "Mr. Parker, what brings you here?"
He got straight to the point. "Mr. Ravencroft sent me to discuss divorce terms. Regarding your previous... demands, I must point out they're legally untenable and therefore cannot be considered valid agreements. It's time to reconsider."
Parker added, "Mr. Ravencroft's position is that there's still room for negotiation on the divorce terms, but he hopes you'll be more reasonable and stop insisting on those... unrealistic demands."
The word "unrealistic" made me smile bitterly. Falling in love with Dorian Ravencroft was the biggest mistake of my life.
"Please tell Dorian," I firmly rejected, "that except for the one condition I proposed, I want nothing else." I looked directly into Parker's eyes. "If he can't fulfill it, then we'll just keep dragging this out. I absolutely will not agree to any other terms."
Parker tried to persuade me, claiming my persistence was "meaningless" and that Dorian's offered terms were "extremely generous."
In my heart, I knew I no longer cared whether Dorian loved me or not. I only wanted him to fulfill a father's responsibility during Isolde's final days, to give her even the smallest bit of paternal love.
I ended the conversation decisively. "My position is perfectly clear." I looked at my watch. "I'm sorry, but I'm quite busy now. Excuse me."
As I turned to head back to the ICU, I painfully realized that in Dorian's heart, Isolde and I together didn't weigh as much as Belladonna Hawthorne.
Looking at Isolde on the bed, I could no longer control my tears.
Isolde's condition suddenly worsened. A doctor hurriedly found me, explaining that without immediate surgery, Isolde might not make it through the night.
"Do the surgery!" I answered without hesitation. "Do it now!"
At the payment counter, I frantically swiped multiple cards, each one declined. To my horror, all my accounts were frozen, with less than two thousand dollars cash remaining in my wallet.
I immediately understood this was Dorian's retaliation, but for Isolde's sake, I dialed his number directly.
"We're sorry, but the number you've dialed is temporarily unavailable..."
I sat tearfully by Isolde's bedside, watching helplessly as blood bubbled from her mouth, completely powerless to help.
Isolde's final words were faint but clear: "Mommy, don't cry." She struggled to continue, "Mommy, we don't need Daddy anymore. You should be happy."
With her last strength, Isolde's small hand reached up to remove her oxygen mask, then fell limply to her side. The monitoring equipment immediately emitted a piercing alarm.
I screamed "Isolde!" as tears streamed down my face. My chest tightened, making it difficult to breathe.
I realized Isolde had left this world: "Isolde, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"
I held my lifeless child, trembling as I kissed her little face.
With shaking hands, I gently arranged Isolde's limbs, smoothing her hospital gown before carefully disconnecting the various tubes and monitors that had failed to keep her with me. A nurse offered to help, but I shook my head. This was the last act of mothering I could perform for my child, and I wouldn't relinquish it to anyone.
"Could you bring me her clothes?" I asked, my voice surprisingly steady despite the storm raging inside me. "The pink princess dress in her overnight bag. It's her favorite."
When the nurse returned with the dress, I methodically dressed Isolde, just as I had done countless mornings before. I brushed her thin hair, arranging it around her face the way she liked it. I even applied a tiny dab of the strawberry lip gloss she had begged me for on her last birthday.
"There you go, sweetheart," I whispered. "You look beautiful. Just like the princess you always wanted to be."
The staff at Memorial Grace were visibly affected by Isolde's passing. She had been a fixture in the pediatric oncology ward for so long that everyone knew her—knew her favorite songs, her favorite stories, her infectious laugh that somehow persisted even through the worst of her treatments.
The medical staff were visibly moved; several nurses wiped tears in the corner of the room.
"Thank you all for everything you've done for Isolde," I said to the assembled medical staff, my voice clear despite the rawness in my throat. "Your kindness meant the world to her. To both of us."
A senior nurse approached me cautiously, concern etched across her face. "Mrs. Ravencroft, are you... are you alright? Would you like us to call someone for you?"
I almost laughed at the question. Call who? My husband who had abandoned us? My uncle who saw us only as a meal ticket? I had no one.
"I'm fine, thank you," I replied.
The hospital social worker provided me with information about funeral homes, and I selected a simple pink urn from Peaceful Valley Funeral Home. The cost devastated my meager savings, but for Isolde, I'd spend my last penny without hesitation.