Chapter 67 - Funeral

The doctors kept Masha in an artificial coma for a few days. Her injuries were too severe, especially the ones to her legs. They did their best, but they couldn't do much as her knees were damaged beyond repair.

The teenage girl would have to walk with crutches for the rest of her life, if not stay in a wheelchair most of the time.

When the attending doctor announced the prognostic, Alexey was still out of it, looking very much like a lost child. Even after learning that his daughter was now crippled, he didn't react much, only nodding quietly.

Sitting next to the man, Gabriel also appeared as calm as can be, but under the table, his fists were clenched, knuckles white.

Misha was less discreet and directly vented his anger on the wall, punching it with enough strength to leave a hole in it.

It startled the doctor to sit up straight. Although it wasn't rare for a family member to react violently after learning such news, he didn't expect the little boy to be the one to destroy the wall of his office.

He couldn't help but eye the child with a bit of surprise and uneasiness. However, Misha could care less about the doctor's emotional state. Or the throbbing pain in his wrist.

Why? Why did his sister have to go through so much suffering!? He should be the one lying on that bed, not her.

She didn't deserve that kind of fate.

"Don't bit your lips," whispered Gabriel, wiping the bead of blood off the boy's lips with his thumb. "Ok?"

The child didn't give him a clear answer and avoided his hand, but his teeth eventually let go of his lower lip.

Misha was well aware that hurting himself wouldn't change anything. Still, it made him feel better, distracting his mind from the piercing pain in his heart.

.

.

When Masha woke up, her memories were a little foggy, and she had to take a few minutes to organize her thoughts. Slowly, she remembered what had happened, and her already pale face became even paler.

Her father, her little brother, and Gabriel were there, sitting next to her bed, yet her mother was nowhere in sight.

Eventually, the teenage girl opened her mouth. Ignoring her family's words of concern, she asked where her mother was.

She didn't inquire about her legs' injuries, almost not paying them any heed despite their apparent bad state. Right now, all she wanted to know was where her mother was.

No one present in the room found the strength to tell her the truth, but the dark expression on their faces was enough of an answer. There was no need to voice it out.

"I see…" Masha whispered, a tremble in her voice.

In her family's presence, the teenage girl refused to let the tears freely fell down her cheeks. As such, they glittered at the corner of her eyes like little, lonely stars.

"You know…" said Misha softly, stretching a hand to hold hers. "I won't tell you not to blame yourself."

Because he knew it was impossible not to.

"But I want you to know that I'm proud to be our mother's son. She saved the life of my most beloved sister, and for this, I will be forever grateful."

The boy's voice broke a little, and he took in a deep breath before standing up on his tiptoes and kissing his sister's cheek.

"I hope you will get better soon, it's lonely without you at home. I even miss bickering with you." The child paused and smiled in a sad yet kind way, "I love you, sis'."

His last words seemed to crack the dam, and soon a flood of tears surged, ravaging his sister's face.

Masha circled her arms around her brother's small shoulders and dragged him in her bed, burying her head in the crook of his neck.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" she wailed, "If only I didn't cross the road, if only I…"

Misha hugged her tightly, silently listening to her grievances. There was nothing he could say because nothing would make her feel better. Therefore, he said nothing and lent her a shoulder to lean on, staying by her side until she fell asleep, exhausted from crying her eyes out.

Staring at his sister's puffy, reddened eyes, Misha felt like his world was falling apart. He had never seen his sister so devastated.

Seeing her like this, Misha couldn't help but wonder how much she had taken upon herself in their previous life. She had always hidden her suffering beneath a bright smile, and he never noticed until it was too late.

Perhaps now more than ever, he realized that his sister was but a mere human, frail and breakable.

Gently, Misha ran his fingers in her hair.

They had yet to tell her about her mother's funeral service, which was held two days ago. Masha had to be hospitalized for a while, but Mrs. Brown's corpse couldn't wait eternally.

Not only was their mother dead, but his sister couldn't even attend the burial. How would she react when she learns this? Misha didn't want to think about it.

Burying a loved one was hard, terribly hard, but it helped mourn them. His sister had been deprived of that right while Misha had buried his mother for the second time.

In a way, it wasn't fair, yet it also was.

The funeral service had been as painful as the first time, maybe even more. Now, Misha wasn't a clueless child and could understand what was going on.

With clear eyes, he could see things he hadn't noticed the first time. For instance, he saw his father hide in a corner, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably. Despite burying his head in his hands, he couldn't conceal his sobs.

Although Alexey had been an awful father after his mother's death, the boy couldn't stand the sight of him slowly breaking down, slowly drowning in grief.

The child clenched his fists, his nails digging bloody crescents in his palms. He told himself that he should hate him with all of his heart and that he shouldn't care about him.

But in the end, he couldn't.

Alexey was still his father, a father who had basked him in love these past few months. His way of showing affection was awkward and discreet, but it didn't mean Misha didn't feel it. He also wasn't stubborn enough to turn a blind eye to it.

On the day of his mother's funeral, Misha made a decision. He failed to save his mother, but it wouldn't be the case with his father. He wouldn't let him turn into a monster.

With this purpose in mind, the boy went to his father's side. He took his hand in his, and, ignoring the churning in his stomach, he quietly led him to the bench in the front row of the church.

Although the child was sweating profusely and trembling, he never let go of his father's hand throughout the burial.

As the ceremony went on, Misha looked around. He saw the pain and sadness in his relatives' faces become more pronounced, leaving him speechless.

It was the same relatives who never showed up at his mother's grave, not even on the first anniversary of her death. He had always thought that they were heartless, but maybe they had only been quick to heal.

Perhaps, he was the weird one, unable to move on. And because of this, he couldn't resist the temptation and went back in time, trying to change his family's fate.

However, all he did only resulted in more pain and tears, and fate laughed at him.