Page 69 of The Clifftop Cottage

Steven’s head snapped up. “Really?”

She hesitated. Forced herself to meet his gaze. “Yes. I’ll go in.”

The words felt wrong the moment they left her mouth.

She didn’t want to. She wanted her own bed, her own apartment, her things around her. She wanted to press her cheek into her pillow and sleep until the weight in her chest lifted.

But Steven wouldn’t let her. Not until she admitted it. That she was unhinged. That she needed help.

Her pulse thundered in her ears. “But you won’t leave me here?” she whispered. “You’ll come in?”

His face softened. It was almost worse than when he was angry. “I’ll come in,” he said gently. “But I can’t stay.”

She swallowed, staring at him. “Can’t stay?”

“You know I can’t.”

The engine cut off.

Before she could process it, he was out of the car, walking around to her side. The cold air rushed in as he opened the door, his hand outstretched.

Erica stared at it.

This wasn’t right.

She wasn’t supposed to be here.

She thought of the last time. Her own voice echoing off those same beige walls, as she pleaded, “Please, I don’t need to be here, I just need sleep, I just need⁠—”

And now, here she was. Again.

Her hand, icy and limp, slipped into Steven’s.

Her fingers clenched around his arm without realising. A reflex. Something instinctual, as if holding on tight enough could keep her from slipping into whatever came next.

The automatic doors hissed open.

The hospital smelled the same.

Clean. Like antiseptic. Erasing who she was, as she crossed over the threshold.

She barely registered Steven speaking to someone at the front desk. His voice was calm, smooth, practised.

She’s been struggling.

She’s exhausted.

She just needs help.

Erica’s mouth felt dry.

She wanted to tell them, she could explain.

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? No one would believe her.

Because she had lost it.

She had snapped.