Reynolds follows, doing a final check once she's settled in the bed.
"The ribs are going to hurt for weeks," he says. "No strenuous activity. Shallow breaths will be easier than deep ones at first. Ice for the swelling on her face. Keep the arm wound clean and dry—I'll come back tomorrow to check the sutures."
"What about pain?"
"I'll leave some medication. Nothing too strong—we need to monitor for any changes in consciousness given the head trauma." He looks at me. "She needs rest. Quiet. And someone with her at all times for the next forty-eight hours."
"I'm not leaving her side."
"Good." He packs up his bag. "I'll check in tomorrow. Call me if anything changes."
He leaves.
Mom and Charm and Astrid hover for a while longer, but eventually Ingrid asks for quiet.
Just me.
Just us.
They file out reluctantly.
Promising to be right outside.
Promising to bring food, water, anything she needs.
Then it's just us.
In our room.
In the dim light.
Her, broken in our bed.
Me, sitting beside her, holding her hand.
"I'm sorry," she whispers.
"Don't. Don't you dare apologize."
"But if I hadn't posted about the engagement on Facebook—that's how he found me. He said he saw the announcement. Saw the ring. Knew where I worked?—"
"This is not your fault." I squeeze her hand. "None of this is your fault. The only person responsible is the man who did this. And I swear to you—I swear on everything I am—he's going to pay for it."
"Gunnar—"
"He's going to pay for every bruise. Every cut. Every tear you've cried." My voice is steady. Cold. "And I'm going to get your ring back. That ring meant something. It was supposed to be on your finger for fifty years. For our fifty years. And some piece of shit trafficker doesn't get to take that from us."
She's crying again.
Quiet tears.
"I love you," she says.
"I love you too. More than anything. More than my own life."
"Promise me you'll be careful. When you go after them. Promise me you'll come back."
"I promise."
