My Sister Stole My Mate And I Let Her (Seraphina) novel Chapter 93

Chapter 93: Chapter 93 GRIEF AND DUTY

SERAPHINA’S POV

After that day, an unspoken truce seemed to settle between Kieran and me, both of us wordlessly agreeing on one thing: distance.

We were careful with each other, deliberate, like rival soldiers who’d stumbled too close on a battlefield, retreating to their lines with weapons lowered but hands still tense on the hilts.

We fell into a strange rhythm—not the comfortable kind that soothed, but one strung taut, like a bow pulled back too far.

He no longer hovered around me or cornered me against walls and counters. No longer lingered behind me with that charged silence that made the air feel too tight.

And I no longer felt the burn of his gaze when he thought I wasn’t looking. At least, I told myself I didn’t.

And in truth, I clung to that distance as much as I resented it.

Because it was safer. For me. For him.

For my baby boy, who only ever wanted his mother to be happy.

My injury healed pretty quickly, and soon, I was back on my feet.

I spent most of my days with Daniel—morning walks on the beach (steering clear of bushes and the ocean), watching them from a safe distance as Kieran taught Daniel surfing techniques, hovering nearby while he had his lessons with his tutor.

And then, one morning, a week later at breakfast, Daniel said, his mouth smeared with mango, “Mom, now that you’re all better, can we go on a family adventure?”

His eyes shone, wide and expectant. The kind of look that made me feel like I could build an entire world with my bare hands if only it would make him smile.

“A family adventure?” I repeated, setting down my fork.

He nodded, curls bouncing. “I could plan it. We could explore the reefs, or go fishing, or sail to another island, or go on a hike, or build a bonfire on the beach, and sleep under the stars, or—”

“Slow down!” I laughed. His joy was infectious, warming the morning air more than the Caribbean sun streaming through the windows.

For a moment, the tension that had ruled the villa felt distant, banished by nothing more than my son’s unfiltered joy.

Kieran, who had been quietly sipping from a mug at the other end of the table, gave a low chuckle but said nothing.

That’s how he was when the three of us were together—he didn’t speak unless he was spoken to. Like he was always watching our interactions from outside a window.

“Dad, what do you think?” Daniel asked, bouncing in his seat excitedly. “You’ll come with us, right?”

Before Kieran could answer, his phone buzzed against the polished wood of the table.

A shot of irritation went through me that he had his phone when I couldn’t, but it was quickly replaced by curiosity when he glanced at the screen, and his expression hardened.

He stood, turning and moving a few steps away before answering. His voice dropped low, clipped. “Hey, it’s early. What’s up?”

I tried—and failed—not to look at him, noting the way the muscles of his shoulders locked, the way his grip on the phone tightened, the flex of his jaw as he gave sharp nods and quick mumbles.

Then he turned around.

My heart skipped a beat, and I couldn’t tear my gaze away quickly enough.

My brow raised when I saw that he was walking towards me.

He handed the phone to me, his expression unreadable.

“Sera,” he said, voice clipped. “It’s Celeste. She wants to speak with you.”

My stomach dropped. “Celeste?”

I didn’t know what surprised me more, the fact that it had been Celeste on the line and he’d looked so...uncomfortable—or that my sister wanted to talk to me.

His fingers brushed mine as I took it, and for a fleeting instant, I thought I saw a storm gathering behind his eyes again.

But then he stepped back, arms folding across his chest, as if insulating himself from whatever was coming.

I stared at the phone in my hand, bracing myself for...what? I didn’t know.

I pressed the phone to my ear. “Celeste?”

Her voice came through soft, almost sweet, which in itself put me on edge. “Sera. I thought it best to call Kieran since I knew you didn’t bring your phone to the island.”

My chest tightened. “What do you want?”

She exhaled heavily. “It’s Mom. She’s been hospitalized. The doctors say it’s serious. You should come.”

My grip on the phone slackened. “Hospitalized?”

“Yes.” Celeste’s tone sharpened, though she cloaked it quickly in what sounded like feigned sympathy. “I wouldn’t be calling otherwise. I thought, despite everything, you’d want to know. She’s still your mother, isn’t she?”

Conflicting emotions tore through me at once.

Anger—still simmering, because, more than my mother, Margaret Lockwood was the woman who had turned her back on me, who had stood idly while I was treated like gum under everyone’s shoe, who had chosen convenience and appearances over her own daughter.

And grief—unspoken and unacknowledged, because no matter how many ways she failed me, she was still my mother. I’d already lost my father without reconciliation, without goodbye.

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