Beatrice stared hard into Irene’s eyes, her face coated with immense regret. When she realized the physician wouldn't leave her alone until she replied, she nodded subtly.
Weston threw his mother a stern glare as Irene headed towards the doors.
“This is all your fault.” He whispered. “I hope you can live with yourself if she dies.”
Before Beatrice could mouth a reply, he turned away from her and headed to Juliet's room. She was in the same position as he had left her, her hands placed gently on her abdomen, her eyes shut gently. He could not bear to see her in that state for longer, so he closed the door behind him.
“Weston—” Beatrice called as he walked past her to the doors.
He could tell his mother was filled with regrets because she hadn't made a snarky retort since he returned with his wife in his arms. He just wasn't ready to give her the audience. He walked out of the manor and towards the walls. The garden would become his only source of comfort until Juliet woke up.He realized, as he entered the garden, that it smelled exactly like his wife. He didn't know whether it was Juliet who smelled like the garden or the other way round, but he didn't waste time trying to decide. He found his familiar bench and sank into it, letting the several fragrances slowly take over his senses. He slowly drifted off in the garden's warm embrace, feeling Juliet's presence in every part of his memories. He could feel her soft hands whenever they touched, her naturally curious eyes whenever he spoke about his past or his experience of the day, her loud, cheery laugh whenever he said a funny sentence, and her sympathetic voice whenever she tried to reassure him.
“Weston?” His mother's gentle voice broke into his memories, causing them to disappear. He opened his eyes and found his mother staring down at him. Her eyes were filled with the utmost sadness, and her hands held each other tightly.
“Can I?” She asked, gesturing towards the empty space on the bench beside him. The space Juliet would always occupy whenever she stopped working. He nodded and watched his mother make her way to his side. For a moment, nothing could be heard except their shallow, anxious breaths.
“You love her, don't you?” Beatrice asked. Weston gave no reply, but Beatrice continued to speak nonetheless.
“At first, I thought you were only trying to fulfill your duty. Up until this morning, I thought that was what you did. But I must have missed it, when you grew closer and your union turned into friendship and then love.”
Again, Weston said nothing.
“It was right there in my face but I was too busy trying to get you to see that you could've gotten married to someone else, to notice.”
The tears started to slowly form again behind Weston's eyes. Even he didn't know how much he had fallen in love with Juliet until the accident.
“I am deeply—deeplysorry, son. I have been trying to open your heart to other women ever since Eliza. I didn't know Juliet managed to do it, and I continued to make her uncomfortable at every turn.”
The tears filled his eyes even more than before.
“I should have known when my son truly fell in love with someone else. A mother always knows these things, and I would've if I'd just watched. I don't know if you can ever forgive me for all I've done to you and her.”
Weston turned to look at his mother, the anger in his eyes completely gone. All that remained was fear. Fear and tears.
“I haven't even told her about how I felt. She has no idea.”
It was Beatrice's turn to say nothing.
“She still thinks I'm being her husband out of duty.”
Beatrice nodded.
“She cannot die, mother.”
“I know.”
“I do not know what I am going to do with myself if she dies. Thiscannothappen again.” His voice cracked.
Beatrice moved closer and pulled him to herself. Weston leaned against his mother's chest and let the tears and the screams flow freely. Beatrice wrapped her arms tight together, wishing she could pull away some of his pain just like that.
“I cannot lose Juliet.” He said, amidst the sobs.
Beatrice patted her son's back gently, letting him release all his pent-up emotions. The last time he had cried like this was the day Eliza died. She couldn't afford to see him in this state. She shut her eyes tightly and also started to mouth a prayer.
Juliet had to survive this. She had to pull through.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Minutes turned into hours and into days, and Juliet's dark lashes still hadn't fluttered open. Weston had refused to leave her side throughout the entire period. Sometimes, on days when he wasn't drained of his appetite, he asked that his food be brought to the room so he could watch his wife as he ate. The experience had completely shifted him and changed the dynamic between him and his mother. While he was grateful for that, he desperately wanted Juliet to wake up. He wanted her to hear him confess his love and tell him she felt the same way. He wanted to tell her about their future home, his little cottage on the Scottish border. He wanted to tell her everything at each passing second. All she had to do was open her eyes.
