A Healer's Second Chance At Life

healer, I was the only one who could save her. For months, he draine

rbidden ceremony that would transfer my entir

he said, his eyes empty of

iversary, forced me to sign divorce papers, and pr

me to an altar an

that Francesca was faking her illness. But Kane pushed her

the day he first told me Francesca was sick. Th

pte

er would prickle my skin, a stark contrast to the warmth I once radiated. Kane insisted on these "energy transfers," draining my very essence to fuel his desperate fa

n lanced through my chest, making me gasp. My legs buckled, and I stumbled, catching myself on the edge of the altar. The room spun.

d up from his tablet. His brow furrowed, a flicker of so

mand, held a fraction of softness.

fleeting second, a foolish, desperate hope bloomed in my chest. Maybe, just maybe, he would see me, tr

en't on mine. They were fixed on the glowing crystals, then

ion of care dissolving like mist. "Her condition... it's deteriorating rapidl

ny. I knew that term. It was an ancient, forbidden ritual, whispered about in hushed tones at Serenity Peak. A ri

d, a frantic drum against my ribs. My throat felt raw. "Kan

ere, no recognition of the woman he once vowed to c

voice flat, emotionless. "And you, Elaina,

e loved my gift, a tool to be wielded, an asset to save his "true love." All this time, all this pain, all my

ueled by a sudden, fierce surge of defianc

vanished completely, replaced by a storm of cold

gers digging into my flesh. "You owe me, Elaina. You owe Francesca. You p

y shoulder slammed against the polished wood, a dull ache blooming instantly. A stack of crisp white papers lay

ize the divorce. Then, after Francesca is fully healed, after the ceremony, we'l

ked our family, our daughter, Cora, as if he hadn't already destroyed it.

ing with false sincerity. "The 'Beacon of Serenity Peak,' they called you. A true

my calling, my very self. And now, he wanted the last vestiges of my life force. He didn

He loved the idea of me, the powerful healer who could fix anything, anyone, even a terminal illness that Frances

e genuine healing I had offered. I had left it all for him,

Not after his "Grand Healing Ceremony." But if I refused, what would happen to Cora? My little girl, my

I picked up the pen, my hand no longer tremb

f irritation in his eyes. He expec

he asked, his

future. And you will tell her, when she is old enough to underst

sh, a last gasp of sentimentality. He nodded curtly, already looking

ver know that I would not be waiting for any "new beginning." Not in this life. But my daughter, m

something. For Cora. I signed the papers, the ink bleeding faintly into the cheap paper. A