Chapter 269 The Funeral
The snow continued to fall heavily, blanketing the cemetery in a thick, silent layer of white. The scene felt surreal, like time had slowed down in the cold, frozen air. George stood in front of Athena’s tombstone, his body shaking from both the chill and the weight of the grief that had settled in his chest. The tears that had flowed earlier had now dried on his face, but the sorrow never left.
Athena, so full of life and promise, was gone. He couldn’t fathom the finality of it all. The photo on the tombstone, the one chosen to capture Athena’s youth—seventeen, bright-eyed, and full of hope—felt like a cruel reminder of how much had been lost. Romy was alive then. They had everything. But now, there was nothing. No future, no chances to fix what had been broken. Athena was truly gone.
Gideon’s words echoed in Byron’s mind. “She’s not dead. She just disappeared.”
But deep down, Byron knew the truth. The crash was a nightmare that had stolen everything from him. Athena was gone, and he had been too late. If only he hadn’t left that morning, if only he had stayed in Forganto City with her, maybe, just maybe, things could have been different.
The realization twisted something inside him. He had been selfish. He had been so wrapped up in his own insecurities, his own conflicts with Freya, his own obsession with control, that he hadn’t seen what was slipping away from him. Athena’s cold, indifferent demeanor before he left that day had been a signal, but he hadn’t read it.
“Why did you return to Girard City that day?”
Gideon’s question haunted him, pushing through the fog of his grief like a knife. If he had stayed, Athena might never have boarded that plane.
And now, all he had left were regrets. The question that tormented him most wasn’t whether Athena had loved him. He knew she had. But had he ever truly loved her the way she deserved?
In the quiet of his office, Byron stood frozen, staring at the empty space where Athena used to be. The once-vibrant home now felt cold and hollow without her.
In Colwi Cemetery, as the snow continued to fall, George finally managed to stand. With trembling hands, he reached out to touch the cold stone of Athena’s grave, feeling the sharp sting of the moment settle into his bones. It was final, but it wasn’t right. He could still feel her presence in his heart—her spirit that had never fully left.
Meanwhile, Evie’s guilt weighed heavily on her shoulders. If only she hadn’t been in the hospital, Athena might not have felt the need to return. But even as she carried that burden, a quiet understanding began to form between her and Byron. They were both drowning in the same sea of regret.
Byron, like Evie, blamed himself for Athena’s accident. If he hadn’t left that morning, if he had just held onto her a little longer, maybe things would have been different. But it was too late now. Athena was gone, and nothing could bring her back.
And so, with the fall of the night and the endless snowfall around them, the people who loved Athena each came to terms with their own pain. There was no answer to their questions, no solace in the icy winds that blew across the world. Only grief. And the hope that, somehow, Athena was at peace.
But for Byron, that hope was nothing but a bitter, aching lie. Because no matter how much he wished for it, Athena would never walk back through that door again. And that thought, that unrelenting truth, was the hardest thing he had ever had to face.