FanStory.com - Miracles - Chap 27by Begin Again

"You need to live again, Garth. Allie would want that."

Fighting back his tears, he muttered, "You're wrong, Eleanor. I promised to love her forever. Those weren't just words."

His chest ached as though his heart was breaking all over again — not only for Allie but now for Rebecca, a love he didn't feel he had the right to claim.

From a distance, Miriam watched him, her ghostly form bathed in the faint light of the atrium. She understood his pain, the rawness of his guilt, and the struggle between what was and what could be. She longed to comfort him but hesitated, unsure how to bridge the divide between her world and his.

A sudden warmth enveloped her, like loving arms wrapping gently around her. Her translucent form shimmered at the touch, and she heard a soft, familiar whisper — filled with love and reassurance. "I'm here, Nana."

Miriam's lips curved into a bittersweet smile. "I thought you might come. He needs you."

"He does, but will he listen?" Allie gazed at the man she loved so much. "For Rebecca and you, I'll try."

Miriam felt the warmth shift, the air around her shimmering with Allie's presence. She stepped back, her spectral form dimming slightly, allowing her granddaughter to take the moment that only she could give.

Garth raked a trembling hand through his hair, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. He tried to force the ache aside, to bury it where it couldn't hurt him anymore. It seemed like an impossible task.

That's when he heard a soft, familiar voice like a whisper carried on the wind. "Eleanor's right, you know."

He froze, his breath catching. Slowly, he lifted his head, his pulse pounding as he looked around the empty space. "Allie?" he whispered hoarsely, his voice trembling. "This can't be real."

He rubbed his temples, willing the voice away — or perhaps willing it to stay. The ache in his chest only deepened when she spoke again.

The voice was tender and warm, yet unmistakably hers. "I'm sorry we didn't finish our story like we thought we would, Garth. But it's time for you to have a new dream."

He stumbled to his feet, his pulse quickening. "No! I love you. I will always love you, Allie," he said aloud.

"I know, and that's okay. But you can love Rebecca too. All loves are different." There was a pause, a softness that lingered in the words. "She's not me. Well, maybe part of her is —perhaps the part you'll regret." A familiar chuckle reached his ears, covering his arms with goosebumps. Her voice continued, "If you give love a chance, Garth, you'll be happy again. And I will be, too, because it hurts to see you sad."

His eyes blurred with tears, and for a moment, he felt the loss and a strange sense of peace. He wasn't being asked to forget her. She was permitting him to live again, to love again.

Her voice softened. "Love her, Garth."

"But —"

"It's going to be okay," she murmured, her voice a warm blanket of comfort." You don't have to know everything. Just take it one step at a time. I'll always be with you — in here." He felt a warmth against his chest. His fingers clutched his shirt as if to catch her hand, but it was gone.

The voice was now more distant, but it was comforting nonetheless. 'Be happy, my love."

Garth closed his eyes briefly, his heart heavy but lighter than it had been in weeks. When he opened them again, he looked over at the space where Allie's voice had come from as though he could still sense her lingering presence.

Taking a deep breath, he straightened himself, his mind made up. He wasn't ready to forget, but maybe — just maybe — he was ready to move forward. He smiled and whispered, "I hope you know what you're getting me into."

Suddenly, his Stetson floated up, swirled around with the butterflies, and landed gracefully on his head. He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "You always did know how to make an exit, darlin'."

"Of course!"

Miriam felt a soft brush against her lips and Allie's murmur, "Goodbye, Nana." She closed her eyes, a peaceful smile spreading across her face. She felt something she thought she'd lost — hope.

*****

The faint hum of the medical equipment was the only sound breaking the silence. Donatelli sat slumped in his wheelchair, staring blankly out the window. His gaunt face and hollow eyes showed his physical pain and inner torment.

Fragments of memory flashed through his mind, disjointed and cruel. He could see Jenna — the scent of her hair, the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips, the way she whispered his name that night, her voice trembling with love. His heart clenched at the memory — but then came the image of Garth, his friend, holding her in his arms. A flare of rage surged through him.

And then — blackness. The moment was gone.

The door opened, and the sound jolted him from his thoughts. He turned, startled, as a nurse wheeled Jenna into the room. She looked fragile, her cheeks pale, her hands trembling slightly in her lap. But her eyes, though rimmed with exhaustion, held an unyielding determination.

"Leave us, please," Jenna said softly to the nurse.

The nurse hesitated but nodded, stepping out of the room and closing the door behind her. Jenna turned back to Donatelli, her heart breaking at seeing the man she loved reduced to a shadow of himself.

"Matthew," she said, her voice soft and full of emotion.

For a fleeting moment, his face softened. Recognition flickered in his eyes, and the corners of his mouth twitched into the faintest smile.

"Jenna," he murmured, almost as if he couldn't believe she was real.

She smiled weakly, her hands clutching the wheelchair's armrests for support. "I needed to see you," she said, her voice trembling. "There's something I have to tell you."

His brows furrowed. The fleeting warmth vanished, replaced by a defensive edge. "Why?" he asked, his voice low and sharp. "Have you come to twist the knife, Jenna? "

Her breath hitched, but she pressed on. "Matthew, listen to me. You don't understand. I — I came to tell you about Margaret."

He blinked, confusion clouding his features. "Margaret? Who the hell is Margaret? Eleanor's sister?"

Jenna's lip quivered, but she met his gaze, her voice barely above a whisper. "Our daughter. She's beautiful and she has your eyes."

For a moment, the room seemed to freeze. Donatelli stared at her as if she had spoken in a foreign language. His mind raced, struggling to piece together her words — to make sense of his thoughts.

"Our daughter?" he repeated, his voice hollow. "What kind of sick joke is this?"

"It's not a joke," Jenna said, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I found out I was pregnant right before — everything fell apart. You didn't know. I couldn't tell you. But she's here now, Matthew. She's —"

His face twisted with rage, cutting her off. "And what? You're trying to pin this on me now?" he spat. "After you betrayed me with Garth?"

"Stop it!" Jenna cried, her voice cracking. "It wasn't like that! I never loved Garth. I've only ever loved you! I could never betray you."

"You expect me to believe that?" he snarled. "After what I saw? After you let him —"

The door swung open, and a cold gust seemed to follow. Eleanor stepped inside, her presence commanding. She crossed the room silently, her expression one of both sorrow and resolve. She stood in front of him.

"That's enough, Matthew," she said firmly, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

He turned to her, his glare venomous. "You don't belong here," he snapped.

Eleanor didn't flinch. She stepped closer, meeting his anger with a calm, steady gaze. "Be careful what you say, Matthew," she said quietly. "Jenna has never betrayed you. She loves you. And that child, your daughter, is proof of that love."

Donatelli stared, her words crashing down on him like a tidal wave. He looked back at Jenna, who was sobbing quietly, her face buried in her hands.

Eleanor moved to Jenna's side, resting a hand on her shoulder. "Come, my dear," she said gently, wheeling Jenna's chair toward the door.

Jenna glanced back at Donatelli, her tear-streaked face filled with heartbreak. "She's your daughter, Matthew," she whispered.

The door shut behind them, leaving Donatelli alone in the empty room. He turned back to the window, his hands trembling in his lap. The sunlight outside seemed dimmer now, the shadows deeper.

For the first time, he felt something other than anger — regret had taken its place.

*****

Eleanor guided Jenna's wheelchair down the quiet hospital corridor, her hand firm on the handle yet gentle with each movement. Jenna's sobs had quieted to soft hiccups, but the tears still streamed down her face. She clutched a tissue in one hand and a locket in the other, her knuckles pale.

"He's not himself, love," Eleanor said softly, leaning slightly forward to meet Jenna's eyes. "You've got to remember that. Donatelli's been through so much, and his mind is like a puzzle with missing pieces right now. Give him time. Let the pieces come back together."

Jenna turned her tear-streaked face toward Eleanor. "What if they don't? What if he's lost forever, Mom? What if Margaret never gets to know him? What if —"

Eleanor gently squeezed Jenna's shoulder. "What if he comes back stronger than ever? What if this is just the storm before the calm? You've got to hold onto hope, dear. He's a stubborn one, that man. But stubbornness can be a blessing when pointed the right way."

Jenna gave a weak smile through her tears, but her gaze shifted as they neared the NICU. The faint hum of monitors and machines greeted them as they paused by the window. Jenna's eyes locked on Margaret's tiny form, cradled in a nest of wires and tubes. Her chest rose and fell so faintly it was almost invisible.

"She's so small," Jenna whispered, her voice cracking. "So fragile. How can someone so tiny fight so hard? What if it's too much for her?"

Eleanor walked around to face Jenna, her expression resolute as she knelt slightly, her voice firm but warm. "You listen to me now, Jenna. This hospital — Frankie's hospital — it's the best there is. That little girl of yours has the strongest fighters in the world on her side. And if you ask me," she added, glancing through the glass at Margaret, "she's already proving she's one of them."

Jenna swallowed hard, her tears softening into a bittersweet smile. "You really think she'll make it?"

"I know she will," Eleanor said, raising her fist triumphantly. "Look at her in there, snug as a bug and already proving the world wrong. She's a Donatelli, isn't she? She's got plenty of fight in her."

The unexpected sight of Eleanor's defiant fist made Jenna laugh. Eleanor straightened up, a playful twinkle in her eye. "See? Even Margaret agrees with me. Look at her — already nodding her tiny head in approval!"

Jenna's laughter softened into a grateful smile as she wiped her tears. She felt a glimmer of hope flicker in her heart. "Thank you, Mom."

"Anytime, love," Eleanor said, patting Jenna's shoulder. "Now, let's keep that chin up and show that little one how it's done."