Unwilling Bride: The 1V5 Love Drama novel Chapter 6

By the time Ava reached the care facility, her grandfather was barely hanging on. He lay there, eyes shut, breath coming in short, painful bursts. Years of illness had left him a shell of himself—skin stretched over bone, a body barely tethered to life.

"Grandpa..." Ava dropped to her knees beside the bed, tears already spilling. "It's me, Grandpa. It's Avie."

Her voice cracked as she spoke, "I shouldn't have stayed on campus this winter. I should've come home. I'm so sorry."

Patrick Morren forced his eyes open. The effort alone looked like agony. He tried to speak, but his throat refused him—every breath scraped like broken glass. Only a hoarse, guttural rasp made it out.

He had just come back from what felt like a century-long dream—one that had finally shown him who he really was. With Rowan's help, he'd reached out to the family he'd lost over a hundred years ago.

Avie… don't cry, my girl, he tried to say, but his voice was gone. Sweat gathered on his temples as he strained to form the words.

This was the little girl he'd found all those years ago—frail, abandoned, and barely alive. He'd raised her as his own, watched her grow into something beautiful. He wanted nothing more than to keep watching, but that chance was slipping away.

His eyes, clouded with sorrow, shimmered with tears as his body shook from the struggle to breathe. The sound he produced—neither quite a moan nor a growl—was the cry of a spirit desperately clinging on.

Ava clutched his hand, cold and light as paper. "You're going to be okay, Grandpa. You will. I promise."

Rowan stood quietly near the doorway.

After a moment, he sighed. "Ava, come with me for a moment."

She smoothed her grandfather's thin white hair and forced a small smile. "I'll be right back, Grandpa. Maybe Dr. Doyle has an idea, okay? You'll see—you're going to get better."

She wiped her tears away with her sleeve and followed Rowan into his office.

Rowan handed her a tissue and gestured to a chair. "Have a seat, Ava."

Her voice trembled. "Dr. Doyle... there's nothing we can do, is there?"

Rowan had seen life and death more times than he could count, but what he was about to tell her felt merciless. He still remembered how she'd held her family together when no one else could. Most kids would've broken years ago.

He told her, "He's holding on by willpower alone. His organs are shutting down. The medicine isn't working anymore."

"What about regen liquid?" she asked, desperate.

He shook his head. "Your grandfather's body took massive damage decades ago. It's a miracle he survived that long. Even with today's tech, there's no reversing that kind of decay. Did he ever tell you who he really was?"

Ava shook her head. "No. He only remembered his name. The people who found him said he'd lost his memory—even that name came from a metal tag they pulled from his pocket."

Rowan nodded slowly. "He loves you, Ava. I think he knew this was coming. That's why he reached out to his family—they should be arriving soon."

The weight of it sank into her chest like ice. She buried her face in her knees and sobbed quietly, shaking. Rowan didn't try to stop her. He just stayed there—silent, steady, a presence to anchor her grief.

After a while, a knock came at the door. Rowan rested a hand on her shoulder. "Stay here for a bit, Ava. I'll go check."

...

In the private ward, four men stood by the bed. The eldest—his eyes red and swollen—looked as if he were holding himself together by sheer will.

"It's been a hundred and thirty-five years," Jonathan Morren spoke, voice trembling. "You vanished on the battlefield. We never found your body. They said the mutants devoured you, but we refused to believe it. Yara waited twenty years for you... When you never came back, she moved to Helios Planet with her husbands."

"Dad, let Dr. Linwood examine him first," Elias Morren said softly. His gaze fell on the fragile figure lying on the bed—his Uncle Patrick—and a heavy pain pressed on his chest. His father was unraveling, struggling to stay composed as grief clouded his judgment.

Harold activated his spatial space and retrieved a slender vial of liquid. He leaned close to Patrick and whispered, "It won't hurt anymore."

...

Back in the office, Rowan told Ava everything. He explained softly, "You've seen how much he's suffering. Sometimes... the kindest thing we can do is let them leave without pain. Go see him, Ava."

Ava stepped back into the room, dazed. Halfway in, she stopped. Patrick was standing.

He smiled gently and his arms opened wide. "Avie, come here."

"Grandpa!" She ran into his arms like a child again. His body was frail, his chest hollowed, but his embrace still felt like home. Her tears soaked through his hospital gown.

"Don't cry, Avie," he murmured against her hair. "If it weren't for you, I'd have been gone years ago. You gave this old man a reason to stay."

He looked past her and smiled at the men around him. "Come on, let me introduce you. This is your Great-Uncle Jonathan, your Uncle Elias, and your Uncle Lucas."

They talked quietly for a while—maybe twenty minutes, maybe more. Then, Patrick smiled again, faint but content. "Avie, could you run down to the cafeteria and get me some oatmeal? The sticky kind—hot and soft."

Ava understood he needed a moment alone with his family. She nodded slightly and quietly left to fetch some oatmeal from the cafeteria.

As soon as she left, Patrick's gaze lingered on the door. "She was so tiny when I found her. Her head was barely bigger than my fist, her cries softer than a kitten's. I didn't think she'd survive the week, but she did. She grew up into something wonderful."

He turned to his brother. "Take care of her, Jon. She's smart, kind—never gave me a single day of trouble. She's the best thing I've ever done."

Jonathan's eyes welled up with emotion. He grasped Patrick's shoulder firmly. "She's your granddaughter, which means she's also mine. From now on, she's a Morren. She'll have everything Jane has—including your share."