“Then, and only then, will I permit you to step foot near her again. But until that moment arrives”—Evelyn paused pointedly—“I suggest you respect her family’s wishes and stay away.”
Sloane drew a shaky breath, steadying herself, her eyes blazing with defiant intensity. “You can’t erase what we have.”
Evelyn gave a small, dismissive tilt of her head, turning toward the door. “Perhaps. But I can protect my daughter from making further mistakes. Goodbye, Ms. Bennett.”
With a final, cutting glance, Evelyn left, the sound of her heels fading down the hall, leaving behind a silence that pressed heavily against Sloane’s chest. She turned slowly back toCatherine, feeling as though the ground beneath her had shifted, unstable and uncertain.
Her eyes lingered on Catherine’s peaceful, unconscious face, her heart aching with an intensity she couldn’t describe. Evelyn’s warning echoed harshly in her ears, mingling bitterly with her own lingering fear and doubt.
Sloane reached out one last time, brushing a strand of hair away from Catherine’s forehead. “Please wake up, Catherine,” she whispered brokenly. “Please.”
Her fingers lingered for a moment longer before she withdrew, her chest tight, eyes stinging with unshed tears. She gathered her things silently, feeling Evelyn’s words sear through her again and again—sharp, cruel, but not entirely wrong. Catherine needed peace, not turmoil. And right now, Sloane wasn’t sure which one she represented more.
As she stepped out of the room, she cast one final glance back at Catherine, lying silent, vulnerable and unreachable. Her heart ached painfully, but beneath the ache was a quiet resolve. Evelyn might be able to keep her away temporarily, but nothing could erase the connection she and Catherine had built.
Sloane walked slowly down the corridor, carrying her love like a quiet promise, waiting for the moment Catherine would open her eyes and decide what came next. Until then, she’d hold onto hope, no matter how fragile it felt.
19
CATHERINE
The first thing Catherine registered was the beeping. Slow, steady, persistent. Then came the sharp scent of antiseptic, the dull ache that radiated through every limb like old fire, and the sterile weight of hospital sheets tucked too tightly over her chest.
She blinked once, then again, the light overhead a blurred glow that burned through her eyelids.
“Catherine?” A voice, low and tight with emotion. Roz.
She turned her head slightly, the effort monumental. Roz’s face swam into view. Her eyes were rimmed red and her jaw clenched. Her hand hovered above Catherine’s before settling, warm and solid, on top of hers.
“She’s awake,” Roz said, and Catherine realized she wasn’t the only one in the room.
Olivia appeared beside her sister like she’d never left, her fingers already curling gently around Catherine’s wrist. “Hey,” she whispered, soft and breaking. “Hey, you’re okay. You’re here.”
Catherine blinked again, fighting the heaviness pressing down on her skull. Her lips parted, dry and cracked.
“Water,” Olivia said, reaching for a cup. Roz beat her to it, pressing the straw carefully to Catherine’s mouth. The water was cool and shocking, a mercy and a curse all at once. It brought clarity. And with clarity came memory.
The road. The rain. Her mother’s voice, bitter and sharp like glass. Sloane’s name on the phone screen.
She pulled away from the straw.
“Is she…” Her voice rasped like gravel. “Is Sloane here?”
There was a beat, just one, but it was enough.
Roz looked at Olivia. Olivia looked away.
No one answered.
The silence was deafening.
Catherine felt the fissure begin to spread inside her chest, something small and hairline, like a crack in a pane of glass. But it ran deep. Her fingers twitched slightly against the blanket, reaching for nothing.
She shut her eyes again.
The pain was everywhere now—bones, ribs, spine—but it wasn’t the worst of it. The worst of it was the absence. The knowing.
She didn’t come.
