"How is Damon?" Liz asks as she approaches Miranda who's in the hospital cafeteria having a cup of coffee
"He's still in surgery," Miranda says. "Stefan is with him. Hudson couldn't stay awake, so Caroline took him to Damon's place."
"Yes, Caroline texted me...Listen, Miranda, I know this is a bad time, but I have some news."
Miranda drops her eyes to the coffee cup in her hands. "Is it about Grayson?"
Liz nods. "The skull Matt and Tyler found by the creek matches Grayson's dental records."
"I suspected as much. Elena said the man who kidnapped Damon confessed to killing him. Do you know why?"
"No. He asked for an attorney. We must stop the interrogation as soon as the subject does that."
Miranda's fingers tremble as she reaches to pull a tissue out of her purse. "I don't understand any of this."
"Aaron Whitmore has a long criminal history."
"What kind of history?" Miranda asks, taking a swallow from her cup.
"He spent several years in prison for assault and manslaughter. But that's not all." Sheriff Forbes leans in, lowering her voice. "He was also declared criminally insane during his time there."
Miranda gasps, her trembling hands clutching the edge of the table. "Insane? Why was he released?"
Liz sighs. "Budget cuts, overcrowding—you know how it goes. They deemed him 'rehabilitated' and let him out. But clearly, they were wrong." Liz swallows from her water bottle. "I'll get the answers you seek, Miranda. I promise."
"I'm sick that he's dead but I'm also angry at him for having a family with another woman. I'll never be able to get answers to all the questions I have."
"Perhaps the woman can answer some of them for you? She's coming to Mystic Falls tomorrow to collect Katherine's body." Liz informs her.
"I guess I'll have to decide whether or not I want to talk with her. I always thought we had a great marriage, Liz, and to find out he cheated on me and Elena for years is unfathomable." Miranda says, her voice low and fierce.
"I understand completely."
"I suppose I should get back upstairs and see if there's any news on Damon." Miranda rises and picks up her purse. "Thanks for coming, Liz."
"Of course," Liz hugs her. "I'll walk upstairs with you."
Miranda smiles. Walking beside her friend, she knows that the darkness that's taken root in their lives will lift with time.
The sterile hospital corridor stretches endlessly, its fluorescent lights casting a cold, unyielding glow. Elena paces back and forth, her footsteps echoing like a desperate plea. Her heart hammers against her ribs, each beat a painful reminder of the chaos that unfolded just hours ago.
The waiting room is a sea of anxious faces. Elena's mother, a stoic woman with tear-filled eyes, clutches a tissue box in a corner. Beside her, Stefan leans against the wall. His jaw clenched, knuckles white as he grips the edge of the chair. They are all bound by a shared fear—the fragile thread that connects them to the man fighting for his life in the operating room.
Dr. Laughlin had been honest but grim. "The bullet pierced his lung," he said, his voice steady. "We'll do everything we can."
Elena's mind replays the scene: the decrepit farmhouse, the muffled gunshot, and the way Damon shielded her with his own body before collapsing as blood spread outward on his chest.
Now, she stands here, her hands trembling, waiting for news. Minutes stretch into hours, and time loses all meaning. Elena glances at her clock for the millionth time.
Stefan clears his throat. "He's strong," he says, his voice gruff. "Damon will pull through."
Elena nods, unable to speak.
Her mother reaches out, squeezing Elena's hand. "We're here for you," she whispers, "All of us."
Elena's gaze shifts to the double doors leading to the surgical wing. Behind them, her love lies vulnerable, stitched together by skilled hands. She imagines Jo's fingers, precise and unwavering, weaving a fragile tapestry of life. She prays for Damon's survival, bargaining with any deity who might listen.
And then, as if summoned by her desperation, Dr. Laughlin emerges. Her face is etched with weariness, lines deepening around her eyes.
Elena's heart races, and she steps forward, her voice barely audible. "How is he?"
Jo lowers her mask, revealing exhaustion and empathy. "It was touch-and-go," she says. "But he made it. The bullet missed his heart by millimeters. He's critical but stable now."
Relief floods Elena, threatening to sweep her away. She sinks into a chair, tears streaming down her face. Stefan claps her shoulder, and her mother wipes her cheeks.
Elena closes her eyes and holds onto hope—the fragile thread that connects them all.
"Can I see him?"
Dr. Laughlin hesitates. She knows the importance of these moments—the fragile bridge between life and whatever lies beyond. She has seen too many loved ones denied this chance, their final words left unsaid. But she also knows the risks—the delicate balance of medications, the vulnerability of a healing body.
"Only a few minutes," Jo says. "He needs rest."
Elena steps into the room, her footsteps muffled by the rubber-soled shoes. The curtains are drawn, the room dim except for the soft glow of monitors. Damon lies on the narrow bed, his chest rising and falling with the mechanical rhythm of the ventilator.
She approaches, her fingers brushing against Damon's hand. His skin is cool, the pulse faint beneath her touch. She leans in, her lips close to his ear.
"Damon," she whispers. "I'm here."
Her thoughts race—a jumble of memories and regrets. The fights they've had, the laughter shared over late-night pizza, the plans for a future that now hangs in the balance.
Damon remains still, lost in the depths of anesthesia. His chest rises and falls, a fragile dance between life and oblivion.
Elena presses her forehead to his, her tears dampening the hospital sheets.
"I love you," she murmurs. "Please come back to me."
The small Virginia town of Mystic Falls lies nestled among rolling hills, its streets lined with quaint houses and the echoes of history. Greta Sienna steps out of her rental car, her heart heavy with sorrow. She has come to collect her daughter's body.
The sheriff's office is a weathered building. She pushes open the heavy door, the bell above jingling mournfully.
Sheriff Forbes sits behind a cluttered desk. She looks up as Greta enters. "Can I help you, Ma'am?" she asks.
Greta nods, her throat tight. "I'm here to get my daughter, Katherine Sienna-Gilbert," she says softly. "I need to take her home."
Liz stands, her chair scraping against the floor. She leads Greta down a dimly lit hallway, past framed photos of previous sheriffs and yellowed newspaper clippings. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting an eerie glow on the linoleum floor.
They reach a cold room at the end of the corridor. Greta's breath catches as Liz opens the door.
"Joshua, this is Miss Gilbert's mother, Greta Sienna. She'd like to see her," Liz informs him.
Dr. Parker nods. Shortly, he brings out a metal table covered with a white sheet. He lifts it to allow Greta to view Katherine's body.
Katherine's once vibrant eyes are closed, her skin pale. Greta's tears blur her vision as she steps closer, reaching to touch her hand.
"Is there anything else I can do for you?" Sheriff Forbes asks gently.
Greta shakes her head. "Just… just let me take her home," she whispers. "Back to New Mexico, where she belongs."
Liz nods. "We'll make the arrangements," she promises. "And we did arrest the man who allegedly murdered her. He's due to be arraigned tomorrow."
"Do you know why he killed her?" Greta asks, dabbing her eyes with a tissue.
"He's not speaking but I believe it had something to do with her resemblance to Elena Gilbert...And I'd like to talk to you about that."
"I don't know what I can tell you..."
"Please, let's go back to my office. Would you like some coffee?"
"I'd prefer whiskey but..."
"Understandable," Liz offers a sad smile. "Have a seat and I'll get that coffee."
Sheriff Forbes studies Greta Sienna's tear-streaked face.
"Ms. Sienna," she begins, "We've uncovered something unsettling. Your daughter's DNA matches that of another woman in this town."
"Do tell," Greta states flatly.
Liz taps her desktop. "Elena Gilbert - your daughter's doppelgänger—a mirror image. Same eyes, same smile. They could be mistaken for twins."
"I'm aware. I met Elena in Taos a few days ago. She came to ask about me and my relationship with her father."
"I see. Can you explain how Elena and Katherine have identical DNA when they're not twins?"
Greta contemplates revealing the secret.
"Ms. Sienna?" Liz interrupts her thoughts.
"This information must never leave this office. Will you give me your word?"
Liz studies her face for a moment before agreeing. "You have my word what you say will remain in this room, between us alone."
"Grayson and I never married legally but for all intents and purposes, I was his wife. I wanted a child desperately, but I struggled with endometriosis for several years making conception impossible. I even had my fallopian tubes flushed; it made no difference. For years, Grayson had a lab in the basement of his home. He used Elena's blood to create a clone of his daughter... Nine months later, Katherine was born."
Liz's mind races. Clones are supposed to be science fiction, not cold, lifeless bodies lying on autopsy tables. There have been rumors. Secret labs and underground experiments, but she'd dismissed them as conspiracy theories.
She'd been wrong. "Grayson crossed a line. Cloning humans—it's illegal and beyond unethical."
"I was willing to overlook all of that to become a mother. I don't have any regrets."
"What if there are others? Have you considered that?"
Greta shakes her head. "There are no others. He swore to me that our child was the only one. Katherine knew Grayson had another daughter. I believe that's why she showed up here."
Liz's mind whirls. The case has just taken a dark turn, leading to questions about identity, morality, and the very nature of life.
"How soon can I get Katherine's body?"
"I'll make the arrangements. I don't want this conversation to leave this room." Liz sighs heavily.
"Can I leave now?"
Liz nods. "Write your phone number down. I'll call you when I have transportation arranged for Katherine. And do you want me to update you on Mr. Whitmore's legal proceedings?"
"I'll let you know."
As Greta leaves the sheriff's office, the weight of loss settles on her shoulders. She will take Katherine home and bury her in the red earth of New Mexico. But for now, all she can do is hold onto the memory of her daughter's laughter and the warmth of her hand in hers.
The twisted path of grief lies ahead, and Greta is determined to walk it, no matter the cost
The sterile hospital corridors echo with the soft shuffle of footsteps as Nurse Sarah guides Elena and Damon toward the exit.
Damon's chest is wrapped in layers of pristine white bandages, a testament to the violence that had nearly taken his life. The gunshot wound has left its mark, both physically and emotionally.
Elena's heart races as they step out into the crisp night air. The streetlights flicker, casting elongated shadows on the pavement.
The nurse helps Damon into the passenger seat of Elena's Jeep, his face pale and drawn.
The adrenaline fueling Elena during the chaos at the hospital is now a bone-deep weariness.
"Are you okay?" Elena asks, her voice barely above a whisper. She grips the steering wheel, her knuckles white.
Damon manages a weak smile. "I'm alive, thanks to both of you."
Nurse Sarah nods, her eyes kind. "He's a fighter," she says. "But the road to recovery won't be easy."
"Thank you for everything," Damon shakes her hand.
"You're welcome. Good luck," Sarah says, waving as Elena pulls away.
As Elena drives, she steals glances at Damon. His eyes are closed, his breathing shallow. She wondered what nightmares plague him—whether he relives the bullet tearing through his flesh, or if he dreams of the madman who pulled the trigger.
Nurse Sarah gave her instructions: keep the wound clean and watch for signs of infection. But no one prepared Elena for the emotional toll. She came close to losing Damon, and fear clings to her like a second skin.
When they reach the ranch, Elena helps him inside. She eases Damon onto the couch, propping pillows behind him. She fetches painkillers and a glass of water, watching as he swallows them.
His eyes meet hers, gratitude and vulnerability mingling in their depths.
"Thank you," he whispers. "For saving me."
She sits beside him, her fingers tracing the edge of the bandage. "I couldn't lose you," she admits. "Not like that."
Damon reaches for her hand, pulling her closer. "Are you okay? We finally know what happened to your dad and the Dr. Frankenstein stuff."
"It's been a lot. I had a feeling the skull was his and so did my mother. What hit me like a tidal wave was learning that Aaron murdered him." She sighs as her eyes fall to her hands, clenched together on her lap.
"This business with Katherine. It's like a black hole swallowed the image I always had of my father. I don't know the Grayson Gilbert who carried on a years-long affair and stole my blood to create another daughter."
Elena sighs. Grief is a storm inside, crashing against her ribs. Anger follows...
"Why did he do those things? My dad was both a hero and a villain, Damon."
Damon pulls her to lie at his side, wincing slightly as she settles against him.
The soft glow of a bedside lamp casts gentle shadows on the walls. Elena stares at the ceiling, lost in thought.
"Damon, I need to talk to you."
Damon drops his eyes to hers. "You can talk to me about anything."
Elena sighs. "It's about my dad. I've been carrying this weight for so long, the anger and resentment. It's like a shadow that follows me everywhere."
"I know it's been hard for you. You've been through so much because of him."
Elena nods. "Yeah, but I no longer want to live in his darkness. I don't want his mistakes to define my life. I have to forgive, not for his sake, but for mine."
Damon holds her hand. "Forgiveness can be powerful."
"I want to let go of the bitterness. I want to find peace and move forward. I can't let his actions control my happiness."
He kisses her forehead. "I'm always here for you. Whatever you need, we'll get through this together."
Smiling faintly, Elena adds, "Thank you. Your support means everything to me. I just needed to say it out loud, to make it real."
"You're stronger than you know. And I'm so proud of you," Damon says softly.
And there, in the quiet room, she weeps—for the father she lost, for the sister she never knew, and for the ache that will never fade.
"I can't let his darkness haunt me..."
"You won't. He loved you, Elena."
Elena kisses Damon's lips softly and snuggles in next to him.
"I forgive you, Dad." She closes her eyes and feels the heaviness lift.
And as Damon's arm wraps around her, she knows that forgiveness is not forgetting; it's choosing to carry love instead of bitterness.
The night air is heavy as Damon, Elena, and Miranda gather around the flickering flames.
Elena clutches a bundle of papers in her arms, their edges frayed and brittle. Miranda stands beside her, her face etched with grief and anger.
The bonfire crackles, casting eerie shadows on the surrounding trees. Grayson is gone, but the memories of his betrayal still haunt them all. He left them with secrets and a legacy of pain. Now, it's time to let it all go.
Miranda strikes the match, its flame dancing in the darkness. She hesitates briefly before tossing it onto the pile of papers. The fire eagerly consumes them, devouring the evidence of her husband's lies.
Elena watches, tears streaming down her face, as the flames lick at the edges of old research papers and documents.
Damon puts his arm around Elena, pulling her close. He has never seen her like this—raw, vulnerable, and desperate for closure. He remembers Grayson as a good man. His shocking double life warrants the fiery reckoning although he's happy that Elena chose forgiveness.
"Are you okay?" Damon whispers, his voice barely audible over the crackling flames.
Elena nods, her gaze fixed on the inferno. "I have to be. For Mom. For us."
Miranda's eyes never leave the fire. She loved her husband once, before the lies and betrayal. Now, she is reclaiming her life, one burning page, one smashed flash drive at a time. The heat sears her skin, but she welcomes it. It is a cleansing fire, purging the past and leaving only ashes behind.
The fire consumes the past and paves the way for new beginnings.
And with that, the bonfire dwindles, leaving only glowing embers and a sense of release. Elena, Miranda, and Damon stand together, their hearts heavy but somehow lighter.
In the distance, an owl hoots—a mournful sound that echoes their mood.
Elena knows that sometimes; you must burn things down to rise from the ashes.
The following weekend, at a private funeral, the mortal remains of Grayson Gilbert are consigned to the earth. Damon is at the grave with Elena and Miranda.
Elena whispers so silently, "I love you, Dad."
Miranda remembers the day they met vividly. It was a rainy afternoon in the cozy corner café near the Duke University campus in Durham.
Seeking refuge from a downpour, Miranda pushes open the door, the bell chiming merrily above her head, and there he is sitting by the window, a book in hand.
His eyes, the color of stormy seas, meet hers, and something shifts within her. She orders a cup of chamomile tea and sits across from him. They talk about art, literature, and life. He is a medical student, his words flowing excitedly as he talks about observing a brain surgery.
Grayson's laughter echoes through the café. Miranda finds herself falling—falling hard at watching his eyes crinkle when amused. He speaks about dreams and the universe. They share stories of their childhoods, their fears, and their hopes. And when the rain finally subsides, he walks her home, umbrella protectively over her head.
They stand on her doorstep, raindrops clinging to their coats. Grayson leans in, brushing his lips against hers—a promise of what might be.
Miranda's heart races, and she whispers, "Meet me here tomorrow?"
And they do.
"I forgive you, Grayson, but I won't forget...With the distance of time, I'll remember the good times," Miranda silently promises herself.
Hand in hand Miranda, Elena, and Damon walk to the waiting car.
Thank you, everyone!
Epilogue to come.
Chapter title: "What can stop the determined heart and resolved will of man?"― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
My good friend, wattskerrylou posted a one-shot "Finding Elena." It's a flashback side story to her brilliant, The Bourbon Diaries.
I hope everyone has a fabulous day and a wonderful weekend.