His words hung in the air for a moment, like he couldn’t quite bear to continue, but reality wouldn’t let him off the hook. “…Physical wounds will heal over time, but coming to terms with an imperfect self—that’s the real challenge.”
“We’ve got to take it slow. At the very least, we need to keep going, keep living.” It was about all they could manage right now.
“Mr. Casper's not doing well,” Dillon’s voice dropped a notch, heavy with worry.
Even from the sidelines, he could feel the suffocating despair. Imagine Casper, who’d been pushed to the brink, barely himself anymore.
When someone’s lost hope, death tends to loom large in their mind. Dillon had folks watching Casper day and night, just in case he tried something rash.
Caroline’s eyes were full of concern. “This time, when you head back to Africa, I’ll go with you.”
“I’m planning to take Mr. Casper to Europe for treatment. If you want to see him, it’s better to go there directly. No need for another trip to Africa,” he replied.
Caroline nodded, agreeing. Since Casper got hurt, she hadn’t laid eyes on him even once. It was a lie to say she wasn’t worried.
But she was also terrified—terrified of seeing someone so changed, someone whose spirit and body had both been shattered.
The man who had always been so proud, now facing such a blow, alone and lost, must be hurting more than anyone could imagine. Just thinking about it made Caroline’s eyes well up.
Dillon wanted to offer some comfort, but he knew it wasn’t his place, so he simply stood by, quietly supporting her.
As night fell, Eliza couldn’t sleep.
She sat on her bed, leaving the window slightly open so the cold night air could seep in, hoping maybe Casper’s spirit might slip through that gap.
Even if he just brushed her hair lightly, letting her know he’d come to say goodbye, that would be enough.
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