Chapter 97: The Morning Of Guilt
Ivan and Lydia lay together in the soft quiet of Ivan’s chambers. Morning light filtered through the snowy windows, casting a cold silver glow across the room. Outside, the snow was still falling gently, layering rooftops and tree branches like a slow, silent lullaby. But inside, the warmth of the fire hummed low and steady. The flames crackled now and then, casting soft shadows across the walls and ceiling. The scent of woodsmoke, pine, and something delicate—rosewater perhaps—hung gently in the air.
Ivan stirred first. He blinked slowly into the pale morning light, his body heavy with sleep, but his mind already reaching for the warmth beside him.
The first thing he saw was Lydia.
Her head rested gently on his chest, her dark hair spread over his skin like spilled ink. Her brows were slightly furrowed even in sleep. Her eyelashes were still damp, and her face was pale and tired. Her lips were parted just a little, her breath soft and steady. But her eyes had been red the night before, and even now, Ivan could still see the trace of sadness across her face.
He knew she must have cried—maybe because of the things he told her. Maybe because of the pain he had finally shared. But he had no idea Lydia had cried until she couldn’t anymore. Until her voice cracked. Until guilt and grief drowned her completely.
She had stayed by his side not because she was strong—but because she couldn’t bear to leave him alone in his most broken moment. She held him as he wept, kissed his tears, whispered comfort even as her own heart cracked in half. She had loved him the only way she could—with quietness, presence, and open arms. And when he finally fell asleep, she didn’t move. She stayed. Because leaving would’ve meant letting go—and she wasn’t ready to.
Ivan stared at her quietly, feeling something tighten deep inside his chest. There was a stillness in the way she slept, a fragile silence that made him want to protect her forever. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead gently, as if afraid even that might wake her.
But her eyes fluttered open anyway.
She blinked, slow and groggy, then met his gaze. Her voice was hushed. "Good morning."
He smiled softly. "Good morning."
He pulled her close again, his arms wrapping around her like a blanket. He kissed her again on the forehead, lingering for a moment longer this time.
But Lydia was tense. Her body was stiff. Her heart was beating too fast, her thoughts too loud. Her stomach churned with guilt, fear, and something deeper—something she couldn’t name.