I push up from the floor and cross the room back to the cupboard, wiping the neck of the bottle clean with the hem of my shirt. It feels something like a ritual. I whisper my thanks, my prayer, and tuck it back on its shelf. Then, I press the panel closed, sealing the secret away so it remains invisible.
Just ours.
The hospital smells like antiseptic and coffee that’s been heating too long.
I’m in the waiting room, hunched over in a cracked plastic chair, fingernails still caked with blood.
The adrenaline from earlier is gone now, and I feel hollow—like my skin is a container for something afraid to move. To breathe. To look anyone in the eye.
I’m petrified the doctors will tell me we gave him something poisonous. That I made this worse. As the hours have dragged on in this seat, my worries have intensified.
What was I thinking?
What was Mom thinking?
How did she even know about the panel? Where did it come from?
The waiting room is still and quiet. Behind the desk, a nurse types quickly at a computer. An old man sleeps in a chair across from me, a blanket pulled over his knees.
At the end of the room, a door opens. Every person that’s awake in the room turns their head.
A doctor walks out—her eyes red-rimmed and exhausted, an iPad in her hand. “Corinne Wilde?”
I stand, rushing toward her. My heart and head pound in unison.
“Lewis is stable.” The doctor doesn’t look up from the chart right away. “Surgery was a success. The internal bleeding has stopped. He’s unconscious. Weak, but alive.”
My heart sings. “He’s going to be okay?”
She lets out a long breath. “We really don’t know how, but yes. Based on where the bullet hit, the damage it caused—particularly to his stomach…the amount of blood loss—he should’ve coded. He shouldn’t still be alive.” Her tone is matter-of-fact, but also…concerned. Confused. “But then he just…stabilized.”
The memory flashes in my mind. Mom’s sure tone, steady hands. Her words:What matters is what you believe.
The doctor’s eyes narrow slightly, like she’s trying to make sense of it. “Honestly? People don’t come back from this type of injury. At least, not without serious complications. And yet, he doesn’t appear to have any. We’ll know more once he’s awake, of course, but for now, well, he’s a very lucky man.” She meets my gaze, eyes serious but soft. “It’s a miracle he survived.”
I swallow hard, and there’s a sudden buzzing in my ears. Cold sweat beads at my temples.
“A miracle,” I repeat.
She nods, brows rising as she tilts her head. “That’s one word for it.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CORINNE WILDE - 2008
The trip to Foxglove has never seemed to take so long.
The wind blows hard at our backs, shoving at the car as if it’s pushing us forward, hurrying us along. We pass the familiar spots, and my heart seems to know where we are. That we’re going back.
Lewis holds my hand over the center console, his gaze fixed ahead.
“I feel nervous for some reason,” I admit, squeezing his hand.
He glances at me, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You? I feel like I’m trying to impress a house.”
I laugh. “What?”
“The way you talk about this place…it matters to you. It’s special.”
