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It’s Beth.
The sobs come when I see her because I know Hannah is safe with her.
She stops kissing Hannah to cup my face. She presses her head to mine, and everything ruptures.
“You saved my baby,” she cries.
She’s wrong.
“I put her in danger.”
“No.” She runs her hands over my hair, my face, my shoulders, until her eyes settle on my neck, and she stills.
What’s wrong with my neck?
It happened again.
“I’m sorry.” She holds back her cry. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry it was you.”
“But it wasn’t her,” I whisper because my voice isn’t stronger. “It’s good that it was me.” Something else breaks as I remember. My chest doesn’t feel big enough to contain the pain anymore. “She saw things. I’m so sorry.”
Beth runs her fingers through my hair like my mother used to. “She’s alive. She survived. My baby is here because of you. Everything else we will get through.” She keeps rubbing my cheek. “Oh, Claire.”
“Do I look that bad?” I try to joke because I can’t deal with this. “You should sit,” I tell her, trying to come out of the fog in my head. “She’s sleeping. Let her sleep.”
I will stay here forever if it means she can sleep through most of the pain.
Beth nods and takes a seat in the uncomfortable chair at the bedside.
It looks like the chair I used to sit in when I visited Nick.
It’s only then that I feel the warmth of fingers around my hand on the other side.
My chest inflates when I see him.
He looks exhausted, worn out, and in pain.
He tries to smile, but it falters.
His eyes fall to my neck. Guilt riddles the beautiful features I’m used to.
I can’t stand it.
I shake my head and run my thumb over his knuckles. “You got to us in time. The blame doesn’t lie with you. Jake, he didn’t even know about us. He thought I was staying with Amy. This was about him losing control.”
Eyes still on our interlocked hands, he stands, only to cup my face and press a kiss to my forehead. “I thought I lost you.” His eyes meet mine and knocks the air from my lungs. “The world doesn’t spin without you on it.”
He tucks the strands of smoky smelling hair behind my ear and nausea rocks in my stomach.
“I’m tired,” I whisper. “I think I’ll sleep now.”
***
“Her sedative should wear off soon. We’ve prescribed a week of sleeping pills. She needs to sleep. Her state of shock is quite intensive. Exhaustion will creep in, and her past trauma doesn’t help. She’ll need time off work. A good psychologist will help, but she won’t be able to return until she’s cleared. Police will want to speak to her soon.”
The voices are muffled in the distance.
“Physically, how is she?” someone asks. I think it’s Amy.
