Chapter 222: What Will I Do?

LOUISE’S POV

Somewhere inside her, beneath the expensive clothes and the cruel smiles, there has always been a little girl waiting by a door.

A little girl listening for a familiar voice. A little girl hoping that the man who called her his flower would come home and take her away.

Now he is here, and he is not asking her to be strong. He is not asking her to prove that she deserves him. He is simply holding her.

Louise presses her face against his chest. "I don’t know how to be good anymore." The words are barely audible.

Mateo strokes her hair. "Then we will learn."

She closes her eyes. "I don’t know how to fix what I’ve done."

"We will face it together."

"I can’t make them forgive me."

"No." His answer is gentle, but honest. "You cannot make them forgive you."

Louise’s breath catches.

"But you can stop running from the truth."

She begins to cry again, and Mateo holds her through it.

"You can learn to be sorry without making excuses. You can learn to see the pain you have caused without pretending it does not matter."

He rests his cheek against her hair. "And you can keep walking, even when the road is difficult."

Louise’s fingers curl into his coat. "What if I never become the girl you remember?"

Mateo is quiet for a moment. Then he gently pulls back and looks into her face. "My daughter, I am not asking you to become six years old again."

She stares at him.

"I am not asking you to pretend that nothing happened. You have lived a life I was not there to see. You have made choices I cannot make for you, and you will have to face what those choices mean."

His eyes soften. "But you are still Louise."

She shakes her head. "I don’t deserve—"

"That is enough." He says it without anger.

Louise falls silent.

Mateo cups her cheek. "You have spent so many years deciding what you deserve that you have forgotten how to accept love."

Her lips tremble.

"I am not perfect, Louise. I never was. I made mistakes, too."

She looks at him in disbelief. "But you were good."

"I tried to be."

He smiles sadly. "And I loved you. That was never a mistake."

Louise lets out a small, wounded sound. It comes from somewhere deeper than crying, a sound filled with all the love she has kept buried beneath her anger.

Mateo pulls her close again. "We will face your darkness together," he repeats. "And then we will go into the light together."

She clutches him. "But why would you stay here?"

He looks down at her. "To wait for my child."

The answer is simple. There is no hesitation in it. No hidden condition. No demand that she become someone else first.

Louise stares at him, unable to understand how something so simple can hurt so much. "You’re leaving the light for me."

Mateo brushes a tear from her cheek. "I am taking your hand."

"But you could go without me."

"I could." He does not pretend otherwise. His eyes turn toward the distant glow once more. "I do not know everything about this place, my little flower. I do not know how long this road will be, or what waits for us along the way."

He looks back at her. "But I know you are frightened."

Louise’s throat tightens.

"And I know that you should not have to face that fear alone."

She shakes her head, crying silently. "You shouldn’t have to."

"Perhaps not." He gives her a small smile. "But you are my daughter." He squeezes her hand.

"And I am your father."

The words settle between them.

For the first time, Louise understands something she has spent her whole life trying to find. She does not need to persuade him to stay.

She does not need to bargain. She does not need to offer him anything in return. He has chosen her, not because she is innocent, not because she is kind, and not because she has done nothing wrong.

He has chosen her because he loves her.

And that love is not a door she must force open. It is a hand already reaching for hers.

Louise looks toward the light one last time. It is beautiful from here, a soft glow against the blackness, a distant promise of rest. She cannot see what lies beyond it, but she imagines a place where Mateo can finally lay down his burdens.

A place where no one will cheat him, hurt him, or take his kindness for weakness. A place where he can rest without pain.

She wants that place for him more than she wants anything for herself.

Her grip tightens. "Will you really stay with me?"

Mateo smiles. "I am holding your hand, aren’t I?"

A tiny laugh escapes her. It is wet and broken, barely more than a breath, but it is a laugh. The sound surprises her. She cannot remember the last time she laughed without trying to hide something.

Mateo’s smile grows warmer.

"There is my little flower."

Louise’s face crumples again, but this time, she does not try to hide it. She buries her face against him and lets herself be six years old.

She lets herself be the little girl who wants to be held. She lets herself cry without hiding the sound. She lets herself love him without fear that the world will punish her for it.

When she finally draws back, her eyes are swollen, her cheeks streaked with black tears, and her small hands are trembling. But she is no longer trying to push him away.

She takes his hand properly, palm against palm, and curls her fingers between his.

"All right," she whispers.

Mateo nods. "All right, my daughter."

They begin to walk.

The ground beneath their feet is uneven, though Louise cannot tell what it is made of. The valley stretches ahead, its slopes rising on either side.

The blackness shifts around them, sometimes brushing their ankles, sometimes rising high enough to cover their knees.