“I don’t know,” I muttered. “Part of me… part of me doesn’t know if I can see her like this again.”
“Why?”
“Because…. It feels… it feels like this may be one of the last times I will.”
“You don’t know that,” she whispered, rubbing her hand over my back.
I shook my head, the weight of Darragh’s death and the unpaid bills crushing me.
Ingrid’s thumb traced circles over my knuckles. “I’m right here with you,” she said finally. “If it helps.”
Something in me gave way. I pulled her in, lifted her off the ground, buried my face in her neck. She wrapped around me, and for the first time since the night before, I felt my lungs actually expand.
“I love you so fucking much,”I murmured into her skin.
I felt her breath hitch against my shoulder. I’d said it to her a million times when she was sleeping, and a million more in my head, but saying it here made it real. She was becoming my purpose. For living, for fighting—she’d become everything.
Her arms tightened around me, and she whispered back, her voice laced with heavy emotion, “I love you, Tristian.”
Eventually, I set her back on her feet, placing a soft kiss on her temple before I looked down the hall.
We walked silently, but as I stepped inside the room, the world stopped.
I felt a jolt of pure confusion.
The bed… it was empty.
I wasn’t greeted by the woman trapped in her own body, her eyes begging for an end. The room was pristine—the sheets were pulled tight, a glass of water sat by the head of the bed, and folded towels sat at the foot. The bathroom door was left ajar.
The heart monitor was still beeping, but it had been moved toward the corner. My head turned as if time had slowed, and then… I saw her.
I couldn’t fucking think. I couldn’t even stand. My legs gave out, dropping me to my knees as I faced her. She was sitting in the armchair by the window, the sunlight hitting her face.
This didn’t feel real. It couldn’t be.
But when I heard Ingrid gasp and saw the smile widen across my mother’s face—actually seeing the light back in her eyes as tears welled up—I forced myself to my feet. I rushed over, pulling her into my embrace as I sank down to the floor again, burying my face in her lap.
My heart thudded in my eardrums; my pulse was frantic. I finally felt her—really felt her. She didn’t smell like the hospital or like the lingering scent of death. She smelled like home.
Her frail body was delicate in my hold, but she was warm. I could feel the blood rushing through her veins, a miracle I hadn’t dared to expect. I couldn’t stop shaking, and the second she laid a trembling hand on my head, the dam broke. Sobs racked my chest, years of grief and guilt pouring out of me.
This had to be a dream. Another cruel nightmare my mind had created to punish me. It had to be… it—
“I’ve got you, baby,” she whispered, her voice weak but unmistakable. “Like always.”
Chapter forty-eight
Tristian
Time had stopped.
My fingers dug into the thin fabric of her hospital gown, knuckles white. I held her like if I let go she’d disappear back into wherever she’d been.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
She didn’t say anything at first. She just stroked my hair, her touch steady despite everything. Like she could see every drop of blood on my hands, every sin I’d committed in her name, and she was still choosing me anyway.
“It’s all my fault,” I choked out. “I should’ve never called you that day. You shouldn’t have been in that car. You wouldn’t have—”
