She Died With My Name on Her Lips novel Chapter 8

8 /26

After that, Stephen never came back.

It wasn’t until the very last day of their five-year promise that Louisa finally felt she could let go.

She forced herself out of bed and ordered a delivery: a bouquet of white chrysanthemums and a few things for the graves. It had been so long since she’d visited her parents. Since their deaths, Stephen had hated them so much he’d never allowed her to pay her respects.

But now, with her own end so close, it just felt right. She needed to see them—one last time.

She’d barely reached the door when Stephen appeared, his face stormy, his eyes locked on the flowers in her hands.

“Where are you going?” His voice was flat and cold.

Louisa’s reply was barely a whisper. “Just this once... Let me go see them.”

She looked up at him, tears brimming in her eyes. “Please. I just want to visit your parents too, one last time... I’m begging you.”

“You still have the nerve to mention them?” His hand shot out, wrapping tight around her throat, anger burning in his eyes. “Your parents killed mine. How dare you go to their graves?”

Louisa struggled for breath, her face draining of color, but she didn’t fight back. She just looked at him quietly, as if she was waiting for it to be over.

Something in Stephen faltered. He let go.

Louisa dropped to the floor, coughing hard, her neck streaked with red.

Stephen glared down at her, voice icy. “Fine. Go ahead and visit them. But you’re going to crawl the whole way there—on your knees. Every step, every bow, you’re going to shout out loud: ‘I’m a sinner, I deserve to die.’”

He knelt, gripping her chin, full of cold mockery. “Your parents are gone. The only one left to pay is you.”

Louisa stared back at him, then nodded. “Okay.”

Under the blazing sun, Louisa knelt on the scorching pavement, pressing her forehead to the ground.

“I’m a sinner, I deserve to die!”

Her voice was ragged, but each cry rang out even clearer.

Every step, she knelt, bowed, and repeated the words. From the house all the way to the cemetery—ten kilometers.

People passing by stared. Some whispered. Some even took out their phones to record. But Louisa didn’t seem to notice any of it. She just kept moving, her body stuck on repeat.

Her knees scraped raw, blood soaking through her pants. Her forehead was split, blood and sweat stinging her eyes.

She never stopped.

Stephen followed in his car, crawling along behind her. He watched her thin figure inch forward in the heat, watched the trail of blood she left behind, saw the way she put every ounce of strength into every bow.

His hands clenched on the steering wheel, veins standing out on his skin.

From day into night, Louisa finally made it to the cemetery.

Her knees were a mess of blood and torn flesh, her forehead scabbed over, her entire body swaying as if she’d collapse at any second.

Still, she dragged herself forward, step by step, until she reached Stephen’s parents’ grave.

“Mr. and Mrs. Harris...” Her voice was a whisper. “I’m sorry...”

She said it over and over.

Stephen stood a few feet away, his eyes like ice. “You think saying sorry matters? Even if you say it a thousand times, ten thousand—it won’t bring them back.”