— Everything okay? — Adam shouted over the roar of the engine.
— Perfect, — Eleanor nodded faintly.
The door slid open. A harsh, icy blast of air rushed into the cabin. Mike jumped first. His chute was supposed to open a bit earlier. Eleanor watched his figure instantly shrink to a dot.
— Go! — Adam commanded.
The world flipped upside down. A second of silence, just the whistle of wind in her ears and an incredible, terrifying freedom. Eleanor spread her arms, feeling the air rush against her chest. In that moment, there was no pain. No glioblastoma, no inheritance, no past. There was only the endless blue sky.
It was time to pull the cord. She felt Adam yank the handle. A jolt. But it never came. Instead of the powerful upward tug that should have slowed their descent, Eleanor heard only the helpless flapping of fabric above her head.
— Damn it! — Adam swore.
Eleanor looked up. The main parachute had deployed from the pack, but it hadn’t filled with air. The lines had tangled, turning the huge canopy into a useless, flapping mess. Their speed was increasing. The ground rushed up to meet them, becoming frighteningly detailed.
Far below, Eleanor could see the bright canopy of Mike’s parachute—he was gliding, slowly descending, unaware of the finale playing out directly above him. Adam didn’t give up. He followed procedure: he cut away the main chute and pulled the reserve. But fate was merciless that day. The reserve chute, deploying into the turbulent wake, instantly tangled in the remnants of the main lines. Instead of a life-saving umbrella, a shapeless ball of silk formed above them.
Mike, hanging in his harness, looked up. He saw them. Two people, locked together, falling like a stone.
— Eleanor!!! — his scream was a raw croak, but the wind carried it away into the void.
He saw Adam desperately trying to cut the lines with a knife, saw them spinning in a terrifying spiral. Mike pulled at his own lines, trying to get closer, to reach them, but physics was unforgiving. He was powerless.
Eleanor closed her eyes. Strangely, there was no fear. Only a deep, almost mystical calm. She had done it. She had given them the sun. She had restored Mike’s dignity. She had saved Luna.
“Forgive me, brother,” she thought, and in that instant, the bright Caribbean sun blinded her for the last time.
The impact was instantaneous. The silence that followed was more terrifying than any scream. Shreds of white silk drifted slowly down onto the yellow sand, covering the two still bodies like a shroud.
Mike landed a few hundred yards away. He ran across the sand, stumbling, falling, and getting up again. When he reached them, he saw no blood. He only saw a woman who finally looked at peace. Her face was free of pain and worry. It was as if she had simply lain down to rest after a long journey.
Mike fell to his knees, covering his face with his hands. In that moment, he understood: the story that had begun with saving a pregnant cat had ended here, in the sand, leaving him alone with a vast world and a small daughter.
The mansion greeted them with a dead, oppressive silence. The return from the Bahamas was like a long fall into icy water. The faint scent of Eleanor’s perfume still lingered in the foyer, and her black cashmere coat, the one she never wore on that last day, hung alone on the coat rack.
Mike moved through the rooms like a shadow. He had grown gaunt, his eyes were sunken, and his movements were mechanical, lifeless. But the most frightening thing was Alice. The little girl, whose heart had only just begun to thaw in recent months, had once again become an ice statue. She didn’t cry, didn’t ask for food. She just sat on her bed, staring at a single point, silent. Days turned into nights, Susan secretly wiped away tears as she set the table, but no one touched the food.
Only the gray cat, Luna, seemed to understand everything. She no longer chased the kittens or purred by the fire. She moved slowly through the house, looking into each face with her wise amber eyes, which held a timeless sorrow.
One night, when the house was plunged into its deepest darkness, Luna gently pushed open the door to the nursery. She jumped onto the bed with Alice. The girl lay motionless, her eyes open, reflecting the cold moonlight. The cat came close, feeling the small body tremble, and lay down directly on the child’s chest. She began to vibrate—a low, deep hum that filled the silent room with the sound of life itself.
Alice flinched. Her small hand touched the warm gray fur.
— Don’t go, — the girl’s voice was like the rustle of dry leaves. — Please, Luna, don’t you go too.
The cat licked her chin and pressed closer. And then the dam broke. Alice began to sob—loudly, uncontrollably, freeing her soul from the accumulated terror. She wrapped her arms around Luna, hiding her face in her fur, and through her tears, she began to tell the cat everything she couldn’t tell her father. Luna endured it, only meowing softly in response, as if to say, “Cry, little one, cry, it’s okay now.”
Comments are closed.