And just like that, I exhale for the first time in what feels like hours.
She’s here. They’re both here.
Esme made the flight.
She’s getting the care she needs.
THIRTY-SEVEN
RHEA
When we began our descent, one of the crew members glanced at me. “We’ll land in less than a minute. Just stay seated until we offload her, okay?”
I nodded.
I knew it was important. I had to stay out of the way.
But when I saw the landing pad outside the window—and the team waiting—I could hardly breathe.
I think I counted eight of them. Maybe more. Lined up. Ready. All for my daughter.
Something in my chest nearly gave out with the effort of staying composed.All these people. Because Esme is really sick. Because my baby’s life is hanging in the balance.
They began the transfer, moving fast and precise. Every second precious. I watched—frozen—as they took my daughter off the chopper like I was seeing it all in slow motion. Like a movie that I can’t make stop.
“Ms. Sinclair—Rhea—you can step out now. Come with me.”
I blinked.
Esme was gone. Vanished into the building with theswarm around her. I realized I wouldn’t see her again until something changed. My legs felt like they’d turned to stone.
The woman—hospital staff, probably a liaison, placed a steadying arm under mine. Guided me down. I don’t remember climbing out. I don’t remember how I started moving.
I remember my hair lifting in the residual wash of the rotor blades, even as they slowed to stillness. The wind hitting my face, sharp and cool.
Then we were inside a corridor that is bright and cold. People passing with clipboards and carts, conversations happening all around me.
Life continuing like nothing is wrong.
I didn’t even bring a toothbrush.I’ll be here overnight and I didn’t even bring a toothbrush.
And then I see him.
Spencer.
As soon as I step into view, his eyes find mine. My legs are suddenly in full gear, carrying me straight into his arms. And the moment he wraps them around me—tight, assuring, unyielding—something in me cracks wide open.
I let go.
The day’s worth of fear, helplessness, and exhaustion pours out in long, heaving sobs.
I cling to him like he’s the only thing holding me up.
Because he is.
The woman who walked with me says something to Spencer—an update, a reassurance, I’m not sure.
And then he’s guiding me down the hall.
