To ruin an Omega - Chapter 385: I wish us the best

Chapter 385: I wish us the best

SPECIAL Chapter: TEAGAN

The cell was colder than it had been before.

Or maybe it just felt that way now. Now that I had nothing left to do but sit here and wait for them to come for me.

I pressed my back against the stone wall and pulled my knees up to my chest. The position did nothing to warm me. But it made me feel smaller. Less present. Like if I curled up tight enough, maybe I could disappear entirely.

I had failed.

Not just today. Not just in the study, when I had tried to save my boy Ronan and ended up making everything worse.

I had failed years ago.

The moment I made the choice to lie with Aldric. The moment I let him convince me that my husband was the problem. The moment I agreed to help him cover it all up.

I had set Ronan on this path.

I had made him what he was.

And now he was going to die for it.

The thought made something twist violently in my chest. Sharp and hot and impossible to breathe through.

I pressed my forehead against my knees and tried to steady myself.

Being a mother was supposed to mean something.

It was supposed to mean protecting your child. Guiding them. Giving them the tools they needed to survive in a world that would try to break them.

I had done none of that.

Instead, I had lied to him. Used him. Let him grow up thinking his father hated him for no reason when the truth was so much worse.

And when he finally learned the truth, when he finally understood what I had done, I had not been there to help him process it. To help him heal.

Aldric had been there instead.

Aldric had taken my broken son and twisted him into something even more damaged. Something dangerous.

And I had let it happen.

The door at the end of the corridor opened.

I lifted my head.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway. Multiple sets. Heavy boots against stone.

The guards were coming back.

I stood slowly and moved toward the bars.

Two sentinels appeared. They were dragging Ronan between them. His hands were still in chains. His head was down. He looked exhausted.

One of the sentinels laughed.

“We have to go sharpen the machete,” he said to the other. “Make sure it is ready for the beheading.”

The second one grinned.

“Better sharpen it well. We do not want a repeat of last time. Took three swings to get through.”

They both laughed.

Horror washed over me.

They were talking about killing my son like it was nothing. Like he was nothing.

They reached the cell and unlocked the door. Then they shoved Ronan inside.

He stumbled and caught himself against the wall.

The door slammed shut behind him.

The sentinels walked away, still laughing. Their voices faded down the corridor until there was nothing but silence again.

Ronan did not move from where he stood.

I crossed the cell quickly and stopped a few feet away from him.

“What happened to Aldric?” I asked.

My voice came out quieter than I intended. Shakier.

Ronan lifted his head slowly and looked at me.

“He is dead.”

The words were flat and empty when they should have brought me peace because I knew what it meant for my boy.

I felt my breath catch.

“And you were sentenced.”

He stared at me for a long moment. Then his expression shifted into something harder.

“Why?” he asked. “Do you want to make this about yourself again, Mom?”

The accusation hit me like a slap.

I shook my head quickly.

“No. I had time to reflect, and I see I sent you down this path.”

I took a step closer.

“Not all of it is my fault. But a big chunk is. I made you this, and I am the reason you ended up here.”

I reached out slowly. My hand trembled as I lifted it toward his face.

He did not push me away.

My fingers touched his cheek gently. His skin was cold.

A sigh of pain escaped me. It caught in my throat and turned into something that sounded like a sob.

“I guess you want to make up to give yourself peace,” Ronan said. His voice was bitter. “So you feel less guilt when I perish, which will be any minute now.”

I shook my head.

“I confessed to being an accessory to murder. I will die too.”

He blinked.

For a moment, he looked surprised. Then the bitterness returned.

“Then what is the point of this?”

I looked at him. Really looked at him.

My son.

The boy I had carried for nine months. The boy I had held when he cried. The boy I had failed in every way that mattered.

“Being beheaded by a machete is not a way to go,” I said quietly.

Ronan frowned.

“What does that mean?”

“You will not be able to come back to this world again.”

He let out a short laugh. It sounded hollow.

“That is superstitious. You should not subscribe to that.”

“There is truth in superstition.”

I dropped my hand from his face and stepped back slightly.

“Maybe I will not have the chance to be the best in this life. But I promise you here, in our next life, I will be the best of the best.”

The words felt inadequate. Too small for what I needed to say. But they were all I had.

I moved forward and pulled him into a hug.

He went stiff at first. Then slowly his body relaxed against mine.

“What life though?” he asked quietly. “If your superstitions have any truth in them… There will be no new life for us when we get beheaded.”

I did not answer.

I just held him tighter.

Tears burned at the corners of my eyes. I blinked them back, but they came anyway. Hot and relentless.

I shifted my position slightly and moved behind him. My arms stayed around him, but now my hands were positioned differently.

One hand came up to rest against his throat.

The chains on his wrists would prevent him from stopping me. I had noticed that earlier. The way they restricted his movement. The way they kept his hands locked in front of him.

He could not reach behind himself.

He could not stop this.

I tightened my grip.

Not hard. Not yet.

Ronan went rigid immediately sensing my righteous intentions.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

His voice was sharp, and he was so confused.

Goddess, my little boy. My beautiful, beautiful boy.

I did not answer.

Instead, I tightened my grip more. My fingers pressed against his windpipe. Cutting off the air as quickly as I could manage.

He struggled immediately.

His body twisted. His hands came up and pulled at my arms. But the chains made it impossible for him to get leverage. He could not break free.

“Mom?” His voice came out strangled and panicked. “What are you doing? Mom?”

I kissed the top of his head.

“I know, baby. I know. I know.”

My voice broke completely.

“But it will be fine soon. Do not fight. Mama loves you, and she is coming with you soon.”

He kept struggling.

His movements were frantic now. Desperate.

“Mom, please. It hurts.”

The words tore at me.

I squeezed my eyes shut and held on tighter.

“I know. I know. I am sorry. I am so sorry.”

His struggles began to weaken.

His hands stopped pulling at my arms. His body started to sag.

I lowered us both to the floor slowly. My arms stayed locked around his throat.

He tried to speak again, but no sound came out.

Just a wet gasping noise that made bile rise in my throat.

I kept holding on. Until his body went limp in my arms.

I counted to thirty in my head. Then I counted to thirty again.

Only then did I let go.

Ronan slumped forward. His head hung at an odd angle. His eyes were half open, but there was nothing behind them.

He was gone.

I pulled him back against me and cradled his head in my lap.

The tears came harder now. Violent sobs that shook my whole body.

“I am sorry,” I whispered. “I am so sorry. I am so sorry.”

I rocked back and forth with his body in my arms.

My son.

My beautiful broken son.

I had killed him.

But it was better this way.

Better than letting them drag him out of this cell and force him to his knees. Better than making him wait while they raised the machete. Better than the pain and the fear and the knowledge that he was about to die in front of a crowd of people who hated him with the hope that he never got a second chance at life.

This was mercy.

This was the only thing I could give him now.

I stayed there for a long time holding him… Crying over him.

Then finally, I forced myself to let go.

I laid his body down gently on the floor. I even made sure to straighten his limbs and close his eyes properly.

Then I stood.

My hands were shaking so badly I could barely control them.

I looked down at my clothes. At the simple dress I had been wearing since they threw me in here.

It would work.

I started pulling at the fabric. Tearing it into strips. The material was old and worn. It gave easily under my hands.

I worked quickly and just as methodically.

I tied the strips together, knotted them tight, and made sure they would hold.

When I had enough length, I looked up.

There was a pipe running along the ceiling. Old iron. Rusted but solid.

I climbed onto the stone bench that ran along the wall. My legs shook beneath me, but I forced myself to keep moving.

I tied one end of the makeshift rope around the pipe, pulled it tight as I tested the knot.

It held.

I fashioned the other end into a loop, slipped it over my head, and positioned it carefully around my throat.

Then I looked down at Ronan one more time.

He looked peaceful now. Like he was just sleeping.

“I will see you soon, baby,” I whispered.

Then I jumped.

The fall was short.

The rope caught me immediately.

Pain exploded through my neck. Sharp and all-consuming. My body jerked and twisted. My hands came up instinctively and clawed at the rope.

I could not breathe.

The pressure was immense. It felt like my head was going to separate from my body.

My vision started to blur.

But against my mind, I won the battle as I forced myself to stop fighting it.

I let my hands drop to my sides.

The pain was still there. Still overwhelming. But I focused on something else.

A memory.

Ronan as a child. Maybe four or five years old.

We were in a meadow. The grass was tall, green, and dotted with wildflowers. The sun was warm on our faces.

He was running ahead of me. His little legs were pumping as fast as they could go. His laughter filled the air.

I chased after him, laughing too.

“Mama, catch me!” he shouted.

“I am coming!” I called back.

He ran faster.

I ran even faster, too.

The meadow seemed to stretch on forever. The sky was impossibly blue. The world was perfect.

He stumbled, and I caught him before he could fall. I scooped him up into my arms and spun him around.

He shrieked with delight.

“Again, Mama! Again!”

I spun him again. His laughter rang out like music.

Then I set him down, and he grabbed my hand.

“Come on,” he said. “Let us go find more flowers.”

“Alright, baby. Lead the way.”

He tugged me forward. Still laughing. Still so full of joy.

I followed him through the meadow.

The sun was warm.

The grass was soft beneath our feet.

Everything was perfect.

Everything was exactly as it should be.

The memory faded, and the pain slowly faded with it.

And then there was nothing.

All that remained was just darkness.

Just silence.

But most importantly… peace.

I quite liked that.