Titanic Bound by Destiny

Chapter 26: Those Left Behind

April 15th, 1912. (10:30 AM)

Carpathia, a beacon of hope, seemed to sit still forever in the water, the debris around her offering an eerie reminder of the destruction that had occurred a few hours prior. Over four and a half hours, the Carpathia took on the 705 survivors from the lifeboats scattered across the ocean. The number of the dead was insurmountable. A figure nobody could truly comprehend. Nicholas, in awe of the gargantuan effort the crew and the passengers of Carpathia put in to aid those who had lived through a living nightmare, noted how the ship's dining rooms had quickly been transformed into makeshift shelters. Survivors, their remarkable resilience shining through like a beacon in the darkness, were escorted inside and given a place to sit, rest, and begin the slow recovery process. The dining rooms, once venues of quiet meals and polite conversation, now hummed with the low murmur of shared stories, tears, and the comforting words of those who had survived together. For many, the reality of their survival was only beginning to sink in, their minds still grappling with the enormity of what had occurred. Some would never grasp an understanding of what had transpired, the memories of the sinking too heavy a burden for them to try to understand.

Others, however, chose to remain on deck, their eyes scanning the horizon, desperately searching for any sign of their loved ones. The cold wind whipped around them, but the need to know the fate of family and friends overpowered the discomfort. They clung to the railings, peering out over the ocean that had become a graveyard for so many. After some time, that hope turned to despair as the Carpathia slowly but surely began to move forward, leaving behind the debris and ending all hope of finding many of those who had promised loved ones they would reunite again. Among these survivors was Nicholas, lost in his thoughts and wrapped tightly in his blanket. The warmth of the tea he held did little to thaw the deep, internal cold that gripped his heart. He had searched the Carpathia for any sign of Sebastian, but each face he encountered reminded him of his loss. The letter in his pocket, a final gift from Sebastian, was a heavyweight he wasn't yet ready to confront. As time passed, it seemed more and more likely that he would never see Sebastian again, a prospect that filled him with a profound sense of loss and uncertainty, a void that seemed impossible to fill, a void that echoed with the absence of his beloved.

Deciding to wander the deck, Nicholas moved through the clusters of people, each lost in grief and relief. The atmosphere was one of sombre reflection as the survivors grappled with the reality of their situation. His hope, already fragile, crumbled further with each fruitless search. His eyes, tired and red from crying, scanned the deck aimlessly, seeking something, anything, to anchor his grief-stricken mind. As he walked, Nicholas observed the other survivors, each person a portrait of grief and trauma. He noticed Gwain, the steward who had helped him find Sebastian on the Titanic, now moving painfully on crutches. Both of Gwain's leg was bandaged; seemingly, he had been pulled from the frigid Atlantic Ocean, but at a painful cost. His face seemed tired; the typical warmth of a Titanic steward evaporated into the air. He bore the look of someone who had narrowly escaped with his life but had lost so much in the process. Nicholas nodded to Gwain as he passed, and Gwain responded in kind. There were no words they could share to ease the weight of the other's emotions. By An act of God, Gwain had survived when so many others had succumbed to hyperthymia.

Further along the deck, Nicholas saw Irene Barton, a woman he remembered from the second-class library. Nicholas recalled that she was a journalist struggling in a world favouring men. He supposed surviving Titanic would give her a break she had never wanted, a story to tell that could make her famous. She sat alone, a notepad on her lap, her pen moving steadily across the paper. Irene was writing, perhaps documenting the tragedy or trying to make sense of the chaos through words. Her isolation mirrored Nicholas's sense of disconnection from the world around him. Writing seemed a small defiance against the despair, a way to reclaim a sliver of control. But her face betrayed her; she, too, looked shocked to the core. The foundering of the Titanic affected everyone who had survived in one way or another.