<b>Chapter </b><b>133 </b>
Elena’s POV:
<b>I </b>watched with apletely straight face, my back pressed against the plush cushions of the living room couch, my fists clenched so tightly <b>that </b>my knuckles had turned white. The news anchor droned on, finally revealing the oue of the civil case filed by Lena Winters, Mielle’s mother.
She had made a tearful, yet strangelyposed, speech on the steps of the courthouse, preaching about the importance of kindness, the power of forgiveness<b>, </b>and the need to find closure. The case hade to a swift and rather unsettling close today. And Frankie Hudson, the young, intoxicated driver who had so carelessly taken Mielle’s life, had essentially received <b>just </b>a p on the wrist <b>– </b>a paltry fine, <b>a </b>suspended license, and a small, almost insultingpensation he would need to pay to the victim’s family
Shinichiro watched the news report beside me, his face contorted in barely suppressed fury, his <b>jaw </b>tight. Nine long, agonizing weeks had passed since the <b>case </b>had first begun, and this <b>was </b>the infuriating result.
I instinctively rubbed my very slightly swollen belly. My hands trembled slightly, the weight of the news and the memories of Mielle’s vibrant spirit suddenly feeling unbearable.
Just like Sergei Morozov had so callously predicted over the phone, everything had unfolded exactly as he had described, his cynical View of the world proving to be disturbingly urate.
Shinichiro had opened up considerably in the weeks following Mielle’s tragic death. He had offered me quiet constion, a surprising depth of empathy, and a tremendous amount of practical help during my increasingly noticeable pregnancy.
We had shared more deep and meaningful conversations than I had with most people in my entire life. He had confided in me about the relentless bullying he had endured at school after his sexual orientation had been discovered by his ssmates.
In turn, I had ended up telling him the convoluted and frankly embarrassing story of why I had married Niki, a confession that had left him utterly stupefied. He had practically scolded me, for making such a clearly unhealthy and ill–advised start to a rtionship.
“This <b>has </b>to be some kind of sick joke, right?” Shinichiro said, his voice filled with disbelief as he turned to face me. “How could her mother just… forgive him? Just like that?!” He practically exploded from the couch, pacing the length of the living room.
Mielle’s tearful breakdown in the condo that night had clearly had a profound impact on him. He had told meter that he felt a strange sense of guilt.
He, despite his own struggles, had a capable and fiercely protective brother who loved him more than even most parents loved their children. When he had experienced his own moments of intense anxiety and fear, not unlike Mielle’s panic attack, he had had Haruki to lean on. Mielle, on the other hand, had been left feeling utterly alone, even with two people physically beside her, because she couldn’t truthfully depend on either of <b>us</b><b>, </b>not fully.
I got up slowly from the couch, a heavy feeling settling in my chest, a sense of suffocating fullness that had nothing to do with physical hunger. I made my way into my room. I sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath my weight, and after a moment of simply staring nkly at the opposite wall, I fell back against the pillows<b>, </b>clutching one tightly to my chest.
J
Iy there just like that, for what felt like an eternity. Not thinking, not even really breathing properly. My mind was a nk canvas, devoid of any coherent thought. Not until Shinichiro’s soft knock echoed through the closed door. “Hey. You okay?” He asked gently, his voiceced with concern as he tentatively pushed the door open and peered inside. I remained lying there in silence, my gaze
fixed on the ceiling. He stepped fully into the room, his expression softening with understanding. “Sorry,” he mumbled after a long, tense silence, turning to leave. “That was a stupid question.”
He hesitated near the door, his hand resting on the doorknob, before turning back to face me. “You… want to eat dinner? I made spaghetti?” His voice held a hopeful note.
I swallowed the thick lump that had formed in my throat, the thought of food making my stomach churn. “Sorry, Shinichiro. I’m really not hungry. You should eat, though, and then <b>get </b>some sleep. You need to get up early for that field trip tomorrow, right?” I said, forcing <b>a </b>small smile. He looked clearly taken aback by my refusal.
I didn’t skip meals often, not at <b>all </b>since I had <b>be </b>pregnant. In fact, I had developed a voracious appetite, feeling constantly hungry.
He took a sharp, decisive breath then, his earlier gentleness reced by a newfound resolve. He walked over to my bedside, his gaze intense. “Let’s go to her house, Elena.” He said, and I frowned, pushing myself up to a sitting position, my eyes meeting his.
“Whose house<b>?</b><b>” </b><b>I </b>asked. He rolled his eyes<b>, </b>a hint of his usual teenage exasperation returning, “Lena’s, obviously! Mielle’s mom’s house! We should go talk to her. She clearly has something wrong with her brain if she just let that driver off like that—”
I cut him off, my <b>voice </b>firm. <b>“</b>It’s useless, Shinichiro. Plus, it’s <b>their </b>personal life. We can’t just interfere like this. We’re practically strangers<b>.” </b>
“I don’t care, Elena.” He paused, his eyes drifting towards the window<b>, </b><b>as </b>if he <b>were </b>remembering a painful memory. “I told you about my friend, whomitted suicide, didn’t <b>I</b><b>?</b><b>” </b><b>He </b>asked, his voice barely a whisper.
I paused then nodded slowly, recalling the brief story he had shared.
“Right, Azeem,” I murmured.
“He did it because his family was incredibly traditional and deeply religious. They would never have epted his sexuality. So he just… gave up. He never fought back against the relentless bullying he endured at school. He suffered in silence, tormented and alone, without letting anyone truly know the extent of his pain. I…” He paused, his voice thick with self–reproach. “I was a coward, Elena. Even after his death, his bullies remained untouched, their actions never truly held ountable.” He paused again, his gaze locking with mine, his eyes filled with a deep, lingering sadness. “Do you know what I regret the most, Elena? What causes me the most nightmares, even now?” He asked, and I sat up a little straighter,my chest suddenly felt tight. “What?”
“That I didn’t testify against those bullies. I always thought that someone else would speak up, someone else would have the courage to help him get justice. I told myself I was practically a stranger, we weren’t even that close of friends… I didn’t need to get involved. But that <b>was </b>wrong. Not only was I <b>a </b>coward, but I lost my own self–respect in my own eyes that day. I started hating myself for my inaction. And then…” He took a shuddering breath. “Then, I got my own dose of karma for not helping him. Because the bullies‘ next target… became me.” He said, his voice barely a whisper, and I took a deep, shaky breath, moving forward to wrap my arms around him in a
I shook my head. “It wasn’t your fault, Shinichiro,” I said softly. He took a sharp, uneven breath, his armsing up to clutch my back tightly.
“Neither was it his, Elena.” His voice grew hoarse, filled with a raw pain. “I always thought then… if I died, would anyone help me? Would anyone bring those who hurt me to justice? I would just die alone, forgotten. My tormentors not getting what they deserved and living to ruin the lives of other people.”
The numbness I had been feeling earlier dissipated slowly and my chest ached with a profound sorrow. A tear escaped my eye, tracing a warm path down my cheek.
“I’m so sorry, Shinichiro,” <b>I </b>whispered, tightening my embrace.
We pulled away after a long, silent moment, both of us wiping away tears. He got up from the bed. “Sorry for getting SO emotional. I didn’t intend to force you into anything… I just told you this… so that you don’t end up regretting anything in the future. It’s a horrible feeling to live with.” He said before quietly leaving the room, closing the door gently behind him.
Leaving me in theplete stillness of my bedroom.
I slept that night in a restless, fitful sleep, Mielle’s bright,ughing face constantly shifting into a picture of her tear–streaked despair. Then, a horrific image I had never seen before shed in my mind – Mielle, bloodied and crying, clutching her stomach, lying crushed amidst the wreckage of the car crash. The vision was so vivid, so visceral, that I gasped, pushing myself up to a sitting position in the darkness, my heart pounding. I reached for the ss of water on the nightstand, my hand trembling as I brought it to my lips and drank deeply.
Just then, my phone buzzed softly on the nightstand, the screen lighting up the dark room. My eyes disyed, “Was <b>I </b>wrong<b>?</b><b>” </b>
focused on the single message