Rose's brows furrowed in her sleep; it was freezing. Her teeth were chattering and goosebumps were all over her body even though she was covered head to toe in the thick fur coat. It could only be this cold if the fire were out and all the windows were open.
She knew it wasn't possible—her father would have noticed and kept the fire burning. Her mother was too sick to be left in this sort of weather. Did her father not notice? Rose's eyes flew open in horror at the realization.
However, nothing she imagined was the case. The windows weren't open; in fact, they were tightly shut, and the fireplace wasn't out. There was still a little wood burning softly. The smell of the burning wood and smoke filled the air.
Rose frowned; this didn't explain the freezing cold she felt to her bones, nor the chattering of her teeth. She looked at her mother's bed and noticed it was empty. Rose panicked immediately, but then she realized her father was carrying her mother, his back to her.
Rose felt relief, but it was brief—something about the way her father held her mother told her that something was terribly wrong. She didn't know how to explain it, but she could feel it in her chest; it hurt.
Rose didn't immediately get out of bed. She slowly lifted to her knees, as though delay would change the situation. If she didn't venture forward, she would never know.
"Fat'er," Rose softly called as she held the coat close, a hand pressing against where her heart lay.
Her father didn't lift his head at her call; rather, he hunched some more, his wife's figure completely hidden under his huge frame.
"Fat'er," she tried again, her lower lip quivering. "Is Mot'er awake?"
No response.
Rose felt her entire body shake; the cold she felt had sunk its teeth deeper. Her head told her it was the worst, but Rose's heart refused to believe what her mind was trying to say.
She scrambled to her feet, a soft cry on her lips. She told herself she was overreacting. Her father wasn't responding because he didn't want her to interrupt his time alone with his wife—but even as Rose thought this, she knew how ridiculous it sounded. Right now, she would believe anything other than the truth.
Anything.
Rose rushed forward, going around the bench so she could see him from the front. Nothing prepared her for the sight before her.
Nothing.
Her father was seated on the bench hunched over and in his arms was the lifeless body of her mother. Tears spilled down his face as he clung to her.
Rose stood rooted to the spot. Her eyes refused to believe what she was seeing. For a long time, she didn't know how to react—didn't know what to do or say about the sight before her.
"Rosie," her father whispered as he noticed her presence.
Rose felt something snap, and her legs stopped working. She fell at her father's feet with a loud thud, striking her knees against the cold, hard floor—but she didn't even flinch at the pain.
"Is Mot'er awake?" she heard herself say.
No, that's wrong. Rose knew. That wasn't the question to ask. There was no question to ask—but she couldn't say what this meant. It felt like her heart was going to explode. There was a pain so deep she felt a disconnect between her words and her thoughts.
"Mi little Rosie," her father said as he slowly lifted his head.
Vallyn quickly wiped at his face. His heart was breaking, but right in front of him, it looked like his daughter's heart was failing. He had to put aside his grief to comfort her.
He did not want to let go of his wife, but he had some part of the night to process his emotions. It didn't mean he was over his grief, but right now, the only important person in his life needed him.
Vallyn carefully gathered his wife into his arms. She was starting to stiffen, but she didn't have much muscle, and the weather was quite cold, so she was still very movable. He closed his eyes as he suppressed his thoughts. He carefully placed her on the bed, her hands by her sides.
A little bit of pale light fluttered in through the cracks in the window onto her face. It was dawn, but Vallyn knew his world was shrouded now in darkness and would likely remain so for the rest of his life. His wife was bright, and he was glad she had chosen him.
Vallyn lightly touched her cheek as he tried his best to let go without crying again. He had to be strong in front of his daughter. He slowly turned his back on his dead wife. It wasn't a thought he had—but it was something he had to tell himself.
Rose was still on the ground with a dazed look on her face as she stared at her mother's face. Her father wasn't saying anything, and neither was her mother.
"Maybe she is sleeping," she muttered under her breath. "It's not breakfast yet—I can't wake her up."
Vallyn dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her. Rose felt the first tear slip, and then the dam came pouring out. She couldn't stop the tears.
"Fat'er," she cried, her voice full of pain.
"I know," he whispered in her ear as he held her. "Yer mot'er loved ye so muc', always."
"Fat'er!" she yelled again and gripped his clothes. "Mot'er is…" Rose couldn't dare complete it.
"I know, Rosie—and I am sorry."
Her father held her for a long time while she wailed, cried, thrashed her feet like she was five again, and didn't want to get into the bath. He held her until she couldn't cry anymore—and even then, he held her.
He didn't let go, didn't scold her, didn't stop her from crying as much as she wanted to. He was solid as a rock even though her father was mourning too. They had both lost a mother and a wife—but he didn't let her do it alone.