CHAPTER
FORTY-NINE
EMMETT
Rory.
For a second, I can’t breathe.
Yesterday feels like a cruel joke.
Today, she doesn’t know me. The speed of it pierces me. Those good days make it easy to forget how cruel this can be—how permanent this reality is—and leave me wondering every time if I’ll ever get her back.
I let myself believe we had more time. I held onto the hope.
That’s the trick this disease plays. It gives you a good day and convinces you it’s the beginning of something. But there are no guarantees. Ever. We’re never safe from it, yet it’s so easy to forget that.
“Gran,” I say, trying just one more time to break through.
Her gaze lands on me, and for a second, hope surges as recognition flickers.
Then her brow furrows and her lip trembles.
“Who are you?”
Fuck.
“It’s me.” My voice wobbles, and I clear my throat, trying to sound stronger than I feel. “It’s Emmett. Your grandson.”
It comes out desperate.
Her eyes widen.
“Where’s Rory?” she asks Connie. “He’s lying.”
Connie steps in, placing a hand on my chest and looking at Aspen.
Wrapping her hand in mine, Aspen leads me towards the door, giving my grandmother some space.
“You’re safe,” Connie assures her.
My grandmother clutches the blanket tighter, her gaze drifting to me.
“I just want my daughter.”
Connie’s voice is soft. “I know.”
Her voice cracks.
Fear floods my grandmother’s face.
“Why won’t anybody tell me where she is?”
Aspen’s fingers squeeze mine in silent support, but I barely feel them. The only thing I can feel is my heart breaking and all the hope I felt yesterday draining from me.
I’m standing six feet away while the woman who raised me begs for a daughter she’s already buried.
And there’s nothing I can do to fix it.
