SCORNED EX WIFE Queen Of Ashes (Camille and Stefan)

Chapter 172

The ICU hallway stretched before Camille, sterile and bright. Her footsteps echoed against the tile floor as she

followed the doctor. The smell of antiseptic filled her nose, making her eyes water, or perhaps it was the weight

of what waited ahead.

"Five minutes," the doctor reminded her, pausing outside a door. "He's very weak."

Camille nodded, her throat too tight for words.

The doctor pushed the door open, revealing a small room filled with machines. Their steady beeping cut through

the silence, marking each beat of Stefan's heart. He lay still in the center of it all, nearly lost among tubes and

wires. His skin looked gray against the white sheets, but his eyes were open, alert and watching for her.

"I'll be right outside," the doctor said, and then she was alone with the man who had once been her husband.

The man who had betrayed her. The man who had taken a bullet meant for her.

Camille approached the bed slowly. Stefan's shoulder was heavily bandaged, the white gauze stark against his

hospital gown. An IV dripped clear fluid into his arm. A monitor tracked his heartbeat in jagged green lines.

"Hey," she said, her voice barely audible.

Stefan's lips curved into a weak smile. "Hey yourself." His words cout raspy, as if speaking required great

effort.

Camille moved closer, standing awkwardly beside the bed. She had imagined this moment during the long wait,

rehearsed what to say, but now words failed her.

"You look terrible," she said finally, then winced at her own bluntness.

Stefan's smile widened slightly. "You should see the other guy."

The weak joke broke something inside her. Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks before she could

stop them.

"Don't," Stefan whispered. "Please don't cry, Camille."

She wiped her face with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry. It's just... you almost died. Because of me."

"For you," he corrected. "Not because of you. There's a difference."

Camille sank into the chair beside his bed, suddenly unable to stand. "Thank you," she said, the words feeling

terribly inadequate. "For saving my life."

Stefan's eyes held hers, more serious than she'd ever seen them. "It's what | should have done all along.

Follow on NovᴇlEnglish.nᴇt

Protected you. Instead of hurting you."

His gaze was too direct, too honest. Camille looked down at her hands. They still had blood beneath the

fingernails, his blood, from when she'd pressed against his wound.

"Why did you do it?" she asked. "You could have stayed behind cover."

Stefan was quiet for so long that Camille looked up, worried he'd lost consciousness. But he was watching her,

his eyes clear despite the pain medication.

"I wanted to make something right," he said finally. "Just one thing."

The monitor beeped steadily between them, counting heartbeats, counting seconds.

"I never deserved you," he continued, each word coming with visible effort. "Not when we were married. Not

when you trusted me." He paused, drawing a labored breath. "But in that moment, when | saw the gun... | finally

understood what mattered."

Camille felt fresh tears gathering. She fought them back, knowing he needed her strength now, not her sorrow.

"You don't oweyour life, Stefan."

"I owe you the truth," he countered. "And the truth is, | was a coward. | let Rose manipulatebecause it was

easier than being the man you needed."

He reached for her hand. His fingers felt cold against hers, his grip weak but insistent.

"Camille," he said, her nbarely a breath. "I need to ask you something. And you can say no. You've earned

that right a thousand times over."

She waited, afraid of what would cnext.

"Can you forgive me?" His voice broke on the last word. "Not for my sake. For yours. So you can be free of what |

did."

The question hung between them, heavy as stone. Camille looked at their joined hands, once they had worn

matching rings, made promises they thought would last forever. Now there was only skin against skin, fragile

and temporary.

"I forgave you a long tago," she said, surprising herself with the truth of it. "When | built my new life. When |

stopped letting what happened define me."

Stefan's eyes widened slightly. "You did?"

Camille nodded, the realization spreading through her like warmth. "I had to. Holding onto that pain was... like

carrying a boulder uphill. | couldn't climb with that weight."

"I didn't know," he said softly.

"Neither did I," she admitted. "Not until just now. Saying it out loud."

Stefan closed his eyes briefly, his face relaxing as if a great tension had left him. When he looked at her again,

there was something new there, not the desperate need for absolution, but something calmer. Acceptance,

perhaps.

"I'm sorry it took a bullet forto becthe man | should have been," he said.

"Better late than never," Camille replied, and was surprised to hear herself laugh, a small, fragile sound, but

genuine.

Stefan's lips curved upward. "That's the first tI've heard you laugh in... | can't remember how long."

neither."

They sat in silence for a moment, the beeping monitors a gentle reminder of how close she'd cto never

having this conversation.

"You're happy now," Stefan said. It wasn't a question. "With Alexander."

"Yes," she answered honestly. "l am."

"Good. He's a better man than | was."

"He's different," Camille corrected. "And so am |. We're different people than we were three years ago."

Stefan squeezed her hand, his touch gentle but sure. "You're stronger now. | saw it in the boathouse. Rose

couldn't break you."

The mention of her sister sent a chill through Camille. "She almost did, once."

"But she didn't. You survived. You built something new."

Camille nodded, unable to deny it. The woman she'd been when married to Stefan, trusting, naive, desperate for

approval was gone. In her place stood someone forged in fire, tested and true.

"We both did," she said, looking at him with new eyes. The selfish, weak man who had betrayed her had become

someone willing to die for her. People could change. She was living proof of that.

Stefan's eyelids drooped, his body finally surrendering to exhaustion and medication. "I'm glad... we had this

chance," he murmured, his words slurring slightly. "To say goodbye properly."

Follow on Novᴇl-Onlinᴇ.cᴏm

Camille's chest tightened. "This isn't goodbye. You're going to recover."

"Sure," he agreed, too quickly, "but things will be different. As they should be." He forced his eyes open, fixing

her with one last clear look. "Be happy, Camille. Build something wonderful. You deserve that."

She felt the walls around her heart, walls she hadn't even realized were still standing begin to crumble. Not in

the devastating way of her first heartbreak, but gently, like snow melting in spring.

"So do you, Stefan," she said, meaning it. "Find your own happiness."

He smiled faintly, his eyes drifting closed. "Already did... doing the right thing...

finally..."

His breathing deepened as sleep claimed him. Camille sat there a moment longer,

still holding his hand, feeling the steady pulse beneath her fingers.

The hate she e had nursed for so long was gone, dissolved in the truth of his sacrifice. The pain of betrayal had

faded into something like wisdom. And the bitter taste of regret had been washed away by simple gratitude, for

second

chances, for growth, for the possibility of redemption.

Gently, she placed his hand back on the bed. She stood, looking down at him one last time. The man she had

once loved. The man who had hurt her beyond measure. The man who had finally, in one selfless moment,

becsomeone worthy of respect. Céntent

"Goodbye, Stefan," she whispered.

As she turned to leave, Camille felt something lift from her shoulders, a weight

she had carried so long she'd forgotten it was there. She walked toward the door

with lighter steps, toward the future waiting beyond.

In the hallway, her unlikely family waited, Alexander with his steady strength,

Victoria with her fierce wisdom, her parents with their humble hope for

reconciliation.

For the first tin years, Camille moved forward carrying only what she chose to

bring, leaving the rest behind. Not forgotten, but transformed.