Restarting Life: Back From the Dead novel Chapter 11

Sebastian’s hands were clenched so tightly that his fingernails pierced the skin of his palms, causing blood to trickle down his fingers. The sting of pain, however, did nothing to ease the turmoil raging inside him.

His gaze fixed on Felicia’s lifeless form, his eyes bloodshot and burning with anguish. Through gritted teeth, he whispered, “Felicia Lane, I haven’t forgiven you yet. This… this isn’t enough. You have to wake up and find a way to earn my forgiveness.”

“Felicia, please wake up! If you do, I promise I’ll forgive you. I swear, I’ll say yes to anything—just come back to me.” His voice cracked, growing weaker with each word. Though he was a grown man, his tone was raw and desperate, resembling that of a child begging for comfort.

He grasped her hands tightly, trying to warm the coldness that had settled over her skin, but no matter how hard he tried, her body remained icy, unresponsive.

With eyes swollen from tears and a heart hollowed by grief, Sebastian finished the solemn task of preparing Felicia’s body to be taken home.

That night, Richard and Marissa appeared as if decades had passed over them in mere hours. Their hair had turned completely white, and the weight of sorrow seemed to press down on their shoulders, making them stoop with despair.

Together with Sebastian, they silently sifted through the mountain of Felicia’s medical records. A thick stack of reports lay beside her bedside table—documents none of them had ever truly examined before.

Had she survived, they might never have understood the full extent of her suffering. The records revealed countless chemotherapy sessions and an overwhelming array of medications. The sheer volume was enough to make their hearts tremble with fear.

They could hardly imagine the strength it must have taken for Felicia to endure such relentless torment.

Richard and Marissa’s eyes filled with regret. They wiped away tears and exhaled deeply, burdened by guilt.

“Felicia, we were wrong,” Richard whispered. “We should never have blamed you for what happened with Fiona and Steven.”

“It was an accident. No one wanted this to happen. We’re so sorry… so sorry,” Marissa added, her voice breaking. “We realized it too late. Please forgive us, your parents.”

Sebastian answered with a hoarse voice, “Okay.”

He moved to the door with a numbness that made his limbs feel heavy, accepting the package without a word. The black-and-white photograph showed Felicia wearing a faint, almost wistful smile. Yet her eyes held a quiet sorrow, a depth that spoke of pain beneath her delicate, timeless features.

For a brief moment, Sebastian felt as though he was looking at the Felicia he had known long ago—back when Steven and Fiona were still alive. In those days, they would argue endlessly, but sometimes, distracted by her beauty, he would relent.

Back then, Felicia had the proud, mischievous air of a small cat—haughty and playful, her teasing sharp but never cruel.

He recalled how he would grow annoyed and plot harmless little tricks to get back at her, their banter a strange kind of affection.

The memory was bittersweet, a flicker of warmth amid the cold reality of loss.