"Because it's true. The whole club is looking for him. And when they find him—" She doesn't finish. Doesn't need to. "But that's not what matters right now. What matters is you. Healing. Getting through each day."
"I don't know how."
"One breath at a time. One hour at a time. One day at a time." She squeezes my hand. "And you don't have to do it alone. You have me. You have Mom and Dad. You have Gunnar. You have the whole club behind you."
I look down at our joined hands.
At my bare finger.
"He took my ring."
"I know."
"It was supposed to be on my finger for fifty years. That's what Gunnar said when he proposed. Fifty years. A whole lifetime." Tears spill over again. "And now it's gone. Some monster has it. Probably sold it already for drug money or?—"
"Gunnar's going to get it back."
"He can't promise that. He doesn't even know who the guy is."
"He will. They're working on it. And when they find him—" Astrid's eyes are hard. "That ring is coming home. One way or another."
I want to believe her.
Want to believe that some part of this nightmare can be undone, but the ring feels like everything that was taken from me.
My sense of safety.
My peace of mind.
My future.
All of it, gone.
Ripped away by a man who wanted to send a message.
"I'm so angry," I whisper.
"Good."
"What?"
"Good. Angry is good. Angry means you're fighting. Angry means you're not giving up." Astrid's grip tightens on my hand. "Be angry, Ingrid. Let it burn. Let it fuel you. Because the best revenge against that bastard isn't falling apart—it's surviving. Thriving. Building the life he tried to take from you."
"I don't feel like I can build anything right now."
"You don't have to. Not today. Today you just have to breathe. Tomorrow you breathe again. And eventually—maybe not soon, but eventually—you'll be ready to build."
She helps me up off the floor.
Slowly, carefully.
My ribs protest every movement.
My head spins from crying.
But I make it to my feet.
Make it back to the bed.
