“You’re awake. Darling, I was so worried.”
“Oliver? What are you doing here?”
“The hospital called, and I got on the first flight back to New York. You have no idea how worried I was.”
“What happened?”
“You fainted on the street and hit your head on the cement. I spoke to the doctor, and he said that your blood sugar was a little low but not enough to make you pass out.”
“Then why did I?”
“The doctor isn’t sure. How are you feeling?” His thumb softly stroked my forehead.
“Okay, other than the disco dance party going on in my head.”
“You’re lucky you didn’t need stitches.”
“I can’t believe you came back from your business trip early,” I say, staring into his handsome eyes.
“Why wouldn’t I? You’re my wife, and you had an accident. I’m so relieved you’re okay.” His lips press against my forehead. “As I said earlier, you have no idea how worried I was.”
“You can relax. I’m fine, Oliver.” I lift my hand and place it on his cheek. “I’m going to close my eyes for a while.”
“Go ahead. I’ll be here when you wake up.” He takes my hand from his cheek and presses his lips against my palm.
I close my eyes, letting the darkness soothe my aching head. I’m not going to tell Oliver about Mark’s visit earlier. The last thing I want is for him to worry about me. He’s already doing that and doesn’t need any more reasons. Dr. Burton was right. I am strong. I am a survivor, and I will get through this. That chapter of my life is closed, and closed is how it’ll stay.
As Oliver leadsme through the front door, the warmth of my home envelopes me. In the kitchen, I spot a glittering gold vase proudly displaying a dozen long-stemmed red roses, filling the air with their sweet fragrance.
“Oliver, they’re beautiful. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. They’re beautiful like you are, darling. Let’s go upstairs, change into your pajamas, and get you into bed. You heard what the doctor said. You need to rest.”
“Can you bring the roses up to the bedroom?” I ask.
“Of course.”
I settled in for the rest of the night, reading the book I should have finished by now. Oliver is downstairs working in his office. I glance over at the bottle of medication the doctor gave me to help me sleep. I open the bottle, shake the tiny white pill into my hand, grab my phone, and text Oliver.
“I just took a pill and am going to sleep. I love you.”
“I love you too, darling. I’ll be up in a little bit. Good night.”
I settle under the covers, my head snuggled against the pillow. Before I knew it, I was out.
22
I wake the following morning,unaware of what the day will bring. Opening my eyes, I place my arm over my forehead. With a slight turn of my head, I glance at the space next to me. Oliver’s side of the bed was still made—as if he hadn’t come to bed last night.
I stumble out of bed, slip on my black slippers, and put on my robe.
“Oliver?” I say, walking down the stairs.
No answer.
As I step into the foyer, my heart races. Shock and horror course through me as I see my husband, my love, lying motionless on his back in a pool of dark crimson blood, staining the pristine marble floor of our foyer. The only thing I could manage was a high-pitched, piercing scream as tears poured from my eyes.
“Oliver!” I scream, running over to him, checking for a pulse, but there isn’t one. He’s gone, dead, and once again, my life has trapped me in another hellish nightmare. I try to stand, but my legs are like Jello. I stumble back and hit the console table,gripping the edge for support. I run up the stairs and grab my phone, dialing 911.
