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I stare at my reflection in the smudged hospital mirror.

Hollow cheeks. Dark circles shadowing my jaded, red-rimmed eyes. Pale skin surrounded by a mound of dirty-blond hair that looks like it was on the receiving end of an unfortunate lightning strike. My lips are chapped, my nails long and brittle. My body is frail and malnourished.

But I’m still here.

I matter.

I press both palms to my cheeks and practice a series of different expressions in the mirror. Wonder, joy, anger, shock. My mouth still knows how to smile, my eyes still know how to gleam.

I’m going to be okay.

When the water runs warm, I discard my gown and step underneath the jets for the first time in years. A real shower.

Gel soap. Shampoo. Conditioner.

God… conditioner .

I want to drown myself in it. I leave it in my hair for twenty minutes too long while I shave my legs and let the scent of clean citrus and honeysuckle wash away the remnants of my captivity. An hour rolls by before I’m towel-dried and tucked back into bed, spooning a mouthful of lime Jello between my freshly brushed teeth.

A nurse glides into the room a moment later, her smile bright and cheery. “Good morning, Mrs. Cross. How are you feeling today?”

I swallow the Jello. “A little better. The pain meds are working, and my fever finally broke overnight.”

“That’s good news. Any other symptoms?”

“Just loss of appetite. The Jello is good, though.”

She nods.

My diagnosis came through last night: ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome, or OHSS for short. It’s when the ovaries swell to a dangerous size—a rare and potentially deadly complication that can occur in women who take fertility drugs to stimulate egg growth.

The egg transfer almost killed me.

If my captor hadn’t given me that initial dose of antibiotics, it likely would have.

I set the empty bowl of Jello aside while the nurse checks my vitals and takes notes. “I’m thinking you’ll be with us for another day or two. You’re right, your temperature is back to normal. The doctor just wants to monitor you for any setbacks.”

My legs itch to walk through that curtain and never look back, but I send her a tight smile. “I understand. Thank you.”

“Get some rest. I’ll check on you again shortly.”

I curl up under the covers and search for the television remote as external noise echoes all around me. Other patients with different stories. Doctors chatting, nurses laughing. Sighing, I flip through the stations, hoping the sight of colorful, flickering images and the sound of laugh tracks might lull me into a sense of normalcy. But my mind is scattered, my attention flimsy. It’s too much; an assault on my senses.

I turn off the TV and collapse back down to the bed, begging for sleep to steal me away for a few hours until the next round of tests.

Not a moment later, Jasper strolls into the room. “Everly.”

Glancing up at him, I scoot back into a sitting position and grin widely. “Hey. Good morning.”

“I brought you something. It’s not much…” He unwraps an arm from behind his back, showcasing a bouquet of fresh pink, violet, and cream flowers. A timid shrug claims his shoulders. “Feels silly, really. But I thought maybe they would cheer you up.”

“They’re beautiful.” Tears moisten my eyes. “Thank you.”

He cautiously approaches my bedside, setting the vase atop the adjacent table. Uncertainty filters through him, seizing his steps, his gaze, his movements. Glancing over at me, he swallows, then looks away. Taps at his thighs with tense fingers. Shuffles in place.

I hate this.

This limbo we’re in.

He’s my husband; I’m his wife.

And yet, we feel like strangers.

Years have come between us, and I don’t know how to get them back.

Wetting my lips, I gesture toward the nearby chair. “You can sit.”

He clears his throat. “Right.” Jasper moves the chair over to my bed, the legs scraping against linoleum. “How are you?”

“I’m okay. I took a shower. It was heavenly.”

A smile spreads. “I can imagine. You smell divine.”

“I’m sorry I stank yesterday. I’m sure you needed to take ten showers to eliminate the stench by association.”

“No. You smelled exactly like I remembered.”

God, I hope not. “Like what?”

He pauses, a flash of poignancy lighting up his eyes. “Home.” We stare at each other for a few tension-filled heartbeats before Jasper takes my hand and links our fingers together. “The doctor said you’ll be out of here in a day or two. How do you feel about that?”

“I’m more than ready to get on with my life. Being here feels no different than being there. I feel trapped.”

“You’re not,” he murmurs. “You’re safe. I promise.”

“I don’t think everything has sunk in yet. I might still be in shock.” I press my lips together as my eyes glaze over. “Someone was screaming last night, across the hall. Crying and wailing. I thought I was still there; that I never left. I pictured a woman taking her final breath while I was locked inside my cell, helpless to stop it. Part of me wonders if that feeling will ever go away.”

There’s a wrinkle between his eyes. Worry lines tease the bridge of his nose and mar his forehead. “It might take a little while to adjust. You don’t have to rush anything. We’ll get you situated and take things slow.”

I consider his double meaning.

Take things slow.

A life adjustment.

A marriage adjustment.

My mind spins. Will we still sleep together in the same bed? Will he go back to work right away? Will I go back to work… ever ?

I’m too much of a coward to ask those questions right now. All I want to do is savor each moment as it comes.

Jasper squeezes my palm, centering me again. “We’ll get through this, okay? Don’t worry. Don’t overthink anything. Baby steps.”

I glance at our intertwined hands. “Yeah. I think I just?—”

My words fall off, clipped at the edges.

A lump forms in the back of my throat.

Inhaling a shaky breath, I twist our tethered hands side to side, studying his ring finger.

The lack of a ring. On his finger.

I hadn’t noticed yesterday, too absorbed with everything else. Too bushwhacked and blindsided. My eyes pan up to his. “Where’s your wedding ring?”

Jasper blinks at me, registering the question one word at a time. It’s like he hadn’t realized he wasn’t wearing it. Instinct has him pulling our hands apart and rubbing his empty, ringless finger, as if he can hide what I’ve already noticed.

“Oh…I, uh…” His brows bend deeper, his face draining of color. “I’m sorry. I forgot to put it back on.”

I don’t know why, but it feels like a small death.

A knife in my gut. A lasso around my neck.

I grind my teeth together, keeping the whimper in my throat. “I see.”

“It doesn’t mean anything. I just…I thought you were gone. It wasn’t intentional.”

“I mean, it was.” Inching away from him, I burrow underneath the covers and try to keep my expression neutral. This shouldn’t hurt so much. “You intentionally removed it from your finger.”

“Not because I don’t love you anymore.”

“No. Because you gave up on that love.”

“Everly.” He shakes his head with sorrow, regret etched into every line decorating his face. “Baby, please. I didn’t?—”

“I’m tired.” I stare at the ceiling. My bottom lip wobbles, so I chomp down on it to quell the quiver. “The nurse said I should get some rest.”

I can’t see his reaction, but I hear the sound he makes.

A choked gasp. Despair.

He stands from his seat, looming over me and pressing a trembling palm to my blanket-covered shoulder. “Everly…I’m sorry.”

I close my eyes through a slow nod, fighting back tears. “Me, too.”

Jasper lingers for a few more seconds.

Twenty-two.

Then his hand slides off my shoulder with absolute defeat, and he turns to leave the room.

I watch him disappear from my periphery. The curtain shuffles, his loafers pausing on the other side as hesitation grips him. I wonder if he’s about to come back inside, ambush me with more apologies, plead his case.

But he doesn’t.

He walks away.

A tear trickles down my temple as I glance at the spray of pastel flowers resting on the side table, glimmering under the can lights.

My throat tightens.

I asked Isaac if he would ever get me flowers one day.

I wonder if he would have.

Two more days slog by like thickening molasses. I’m restless, antsy.

I want to go home.

Thankfully, the news comes in when I’m a minute into brushing my teeth, zoned out and staring blankly in the mirror.

A nurse’s voice pulls me from the void. “Your discharge paperwork is in. Today’s the day.”

Today’s the day.

A new chapter begins.

I spit out a mouthful of toothpaste and rinse the sink, combing my fingers through my hair while a trickling of nerves race through me. My mother has been in and out of my room over the last forty-eight hours, bringing me homemade treats and warm smiles, and telling me she spruced up the guest room of her quaint bungalow, located on the outskirts of Los Angeles.

Just in case.

I’m assuming Jasper filled her in on my discovery the other day, spurring the just in case .

My heart teeters at the memory.

The flowers at my bedside are already wilting as I traipse back into the room, still weak and underfed. I managed to keep down oatmeal this morning while the antibiotics do what they can to rid me of this infection.

When the nurse disappears, my mother enters minutes later with a duffel bag stuffed with a change of clothes. Real clothes . Something other than nightgowns made of ivory and lace.

“I’m thinking you can spend the first few nights with me,” Mom says, her eyes aimed downward as she pulls out a pair of jeans and a sky-blue blouse. She spreads the outfit across the wrinkled bedcovers, smoothing out the collar of one of my old favorite tops adorned with a daisy print. “Just until you get acclimated. And maybe because I’m a worried mother who doesn’t want to let you out of her sight for at least a month.” She shoots me an affectionate side-eye. “How did that interview go with the detective?”

“It was fine.” I clear my throat and pad over to the side of the bed, plucking a rectangular business card off the table beside the vase. Studying it, I graze the pad of my thumb over the lettering: Detective Lucas Tanner. It was the same man I spoke to amid the tumultuous rescue, the one who asked for my name. I don’t think I’d recognize a single other face from that five-minute blur, but, for some reason, Detective Tanner stood out. “It wasn’t much of an interview. Just a briefing,” I clarify. “I’m going to follow-up with him once I’m settled. My brain was mush.”

All I could really manage was a stream of fruitless questions about Isaac.

Is he alive?

Where is he?

Who is he?

The detective didn’t offer much. Nothing, really. It appears the elusive man on the other side of my wall will forever remain elusive. A figment of my imagination.

That’s what I choose to believe, anyway.

The other option—the undoubtedly worse option—is that he never made it out of there.

Aside from asking about Isaac, the other burning question on my mind was about the babies and the faceless recipients who paid to have my eggs stolen. Unfortunately, there is no trail to follow. Everything about that black-market prison was designed to be anonymous—no records, no names, no faces. Just shadows and whispers. I’ll never know who they are, where they live, or what became of the pregnancies.

Those children could be anywhere in the world, oblivious to the horror tied to their existence. And as much as I ache for answers, I cling to one grim reassurance: they can’t find me. The anonymity that erased their origins also protects mine.

All I can do is hope they have a good life.

My eyes meet with Mom’s as I return the card to the table and swivel around. “Have you talked to Jasper?”

Humming under her breath, she pauses before answering. “Yes.”

She doesn’t elaborate.

I glance down at my own ringless hand—empty, but not because of free will, and only because it was pried off my shaking finger as I hollered and cried, while a giant man gripped me around the waist and forced me into compliance. It was stolen, likely sold.

I blink back to the hospital room and reach for the new set of clothes to change into. Moments later, I’m dressed, my hair pulled back into a slack ponytail. The jeans are loose around my waist, heavy and weighing me down. My favorite blouse itches my skin as I fiddle with the collar and release the top button so I can breathe.

A wretched thought filters through me: I miss my nightgowns.

Not knowing what that means, I clear the madness from my mind and focus on the moments ahead. I try to stay present. Grounded. Today will be a good day.

Allison joins us twenty minutes later as a female doctor with white hair rattles off instructions. She gives me a prescription for at-home antibiotics and pain relievers, then tells me to take it easy for the next week. No heavy lifting, no strenuous activity. I stare at her, nodding absently, while only comprehending every other word. I’m in a daze, a fog of unknowns.

“I bought you a new phone.” Allison holds out a cell phone after the doctor leaves, a dimpled smile brightening her eyes. “I thought you might need one.”

I gawk at it like it’s an ancient relic dug up from a burial ground. “Oh. Thank you.”

“I’m not great with the techy stuff, but I can try to help you set it up. I’ll add my number back in.”

“Perfect.” I take the phone and wrap my fingers around it. A cumbersome, foreign weight. “I’m not sure if I remember how to even use it.”

“It’ll come back to you.”

Allison and Mom chat easily beside me as I take a seat on the edge of the bed and gaze at the vase of flowers. Do I take them with me? They’re going to die soon.

Then again, everything dies eventually.

People.

Dreams.

Love.

“Everly?”

I glance at my mother with a slow blink. My thoughts are scrambled, edging toward morbid. I’m not sure what’s wrong with me. This is a happy moment; the best moment. “Sorry, I’m spacey. It’s a lot to take in.”

The two women share a worried glance, and I hate it.

I’ll be fine. I’m adjusting, learning to live in the real world again. Very few people can confidently say they crawled their way out of a hell like mine, still intact and still whole. All my tainted pieces need time to heal. That doesn’t happen in three days.

I’m fine.

My chin jerks up when another presence enters the room. I hold my breath, my attention landing on my husband. He’s freshly showered, dressed to impress in a charcoal-and-white pinstripe polo, tucked into ironed black slacks. Loafers adorn his feet, as always. His hair is styled with gel, looking glossy under the lights, not a strand out of place.

Jasper freezes, glancing around like he expected me to be alone.

The energy in the room changes.

A palpable shift.

Sliding his hands into his pockets, he looks over at Allison as she quickly turns away and starts typing something on her cell phone.

Mom clears her throat, moves to the other side of the room.

I frown. It suddenly feels like I’m an outlier, the only one in the room not privy to a secret or an inside joke. The ensuing silence is painful as I stand from the bed and pull my ponytail over my shoulder, fiddling with the split ends. “Good morning. I’m a free woman, at last.” Nobody laughs. Nobody speaks. “Tough crowd,” I mutter through a strained chuckle.

Jasper finally sends me a half smile, sauntering in my direction, looking stiff and out of place. “This is a big day.”

“It is. I’m trying to decide what I should do first.” I purse my lips to the side. “I already got the exciting stuff out of the way. A shower. A clean toothbrush. Jello. I’m thinking a hot cup of coffee is next on the list.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged.”

Mom cuts in. “I have your favorite at the house. Peanut butter crunch.”

My mouth waters at the thought, my appetite creeping back to the surface.

Jasper steps closer, sweeping a hand over his slicked-back hair. “I’m on my way to the office, but I heard you were discharged. I wanted to stop by and give you a proper sendoff.”

My lips twitch. “So formal.”

His voice quiets as he glances around, then looks back at me, his throat bobbing. “Listen…I’d like to give you some space while you get back on your feet. I know this is a lot. I’m thinking we can grab dinner next week to talk. Reconnect.”

My throat buzzes like a beehive. “Sure.”

That’s not what I want.

I want to hug him. Kiss him. Sleep beside him as his heartbeats subdue my troubled mind and carry me away to sun-drenched dreams. I want to dance in the kitchen to the scent of freshly cooked breakfast and eat Chinese takeout by the crackling fireplace.

But there’s a gap between us. A rickety old bridge I can’t seem to get across without plummeting into deep, dark water. All I can do is hold on for dear life while the planks teeter precariously beneath my feet.

I reach for him. My fingers curl around his wrist, and my heart caves in on itself when he flinches and pulls back. It’s brief but damaging. A catastrophic blow to my barely stitched-back-together heart.

Regret fills his eyes. A flash of guilt. He tries to erase the misfire by pressing a hand to my bicep and giving me an apologetic squeeze.

Instinct has my eyes panning over to Allison.

I don’t know why.

I catch the way her posture stiffens, a strange look coasting across her features. Turning her back to us, she bows her head to stare down at her phone.

I glance back up at Jasper. “What’s going on?”

He winces, an involuntary reaction. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, everything got weird when you walked in.”

“You’re reading into things. You just need some time to?—”

“Don’t do that.” Panic dances across my skin, burrowing inside me. I swallow, my pulse quickening with anxiety. “Something’s going on.”

My mother skips over to us, interjecting, “Let’s get you home, Everly. I want to show you the new addition I added onto the house. A little sunroom that?—”

I inch backward. “Please. Someone tell me what I’m missing here.” My teeth start chattering against my will. “Did someone die?” That can’t be right —everyone I cherish is in this room. “Was there a tragic world event? An apocalypse?”

It feels like there was.

My intuition is telling me something is wrong, that everything is wrong. There’s debris in my lungs, craters in my chest, bloodshed at my feet.

Jasper shakes his head and scrubs a hand over his face. “It’s nothing,” he breathes out.

Lies.

It’s something, and that something is going to kill me before I’ve had a chance to truly live.

I know it.

I feel it.

I peer over at Allison again. Her back is still facing me, but she’s no longer engrossed in her cell phone. It dangles at her side in a clenched fist, both of her arms trembling.

“Jasper,” I rasp out, my eyes lifting to his ashen face. “Why won’t you touch me? Hold me? Kiss me? Why aren’t you wearing your ring?”

“It’s just…so soon.” He shakes his head again, his Adam’s apple rolling in his throat. “I don’t know how to do this. What’s right, what’s wrong. It’s confusing… It’s…”

My gaze dances between my favorite people. The only people I’ve thought about for two years, waiting for me on the other side of my torture chamber. My lights at the end of a dark, suffocating tunnel. They’re hiding something from me.

They’re traitors.

Balling my hands at my sides, I heave in a breath, looking back up at Jasper and seeing him. Truly seeing him.

And I think I know. It hits me like a hurricane.

I know, I know, I know.

I don’t want to know.

Guilt stares back at me in pools of dark green.

Betrayal.

I feel sick. My stomach cramps, clenches, implodes. Bile burns my throat, my chest collapses.

“No.” It’s a whisper, a quiet scream, as everything suddenly becomes crystal clear. “No…”

Allison starts to cry.

My mother stands off to the side, clutching her chest as tears trickle down her face.

Confirmation.

Jasper grips me by the shoulders and bends down, staring right into my eyes. “I didn’t want you to find out like this.” His voice is tortured grit, gravel and brimstone. “God, Everly, I’m so sorry.”

I wrench myself from his grasp and plummet to the bed. I’m shaking, shivering from head to toe. Time warps, my vision clouds.

I hear a scream, and I think it’s mine, as nurses race into the room in streaks of black and gray, a colorless haze. Hands reach out, faces blur above me, and an oxygen mask is pressed to my nose and mouth. My wails are a distant whirring in my ears as someone takes my hand and squeezes. My mother. She’s sobbing, her grief mingling with mine, until it’s all I feel.

Grief.

Mind-numbing grief.

“No,” I cry through the mask, as a needle glides into the underside of my elbow. “No!”

My husband.

My husband and my best friend.

They’re together.

A nurse holds me down while the other tinkers with my IV. Thrashing and moaning, I wail, tears blotting my vision.

I slide my hand underneath the pillow and latch on to the blue guitar pick, curling into a ball and trembling with soul-crushing pain. Medication flows through my veins, doing what it can to calm my agonized mind. This can’t be real. I traded a nightmare for a new nightmare.

As my cries weaken to whimpers, I think about the snap—the loss of him—while sedatives steal me away. I see it in a whole new light, my greatest fear bursting to life in vivid color.

Jasper and Allison moved on. Left me behind, like a ghost tethered to a place no one visits anymore.

I see it now: the world didn’t forget about me.

But they did.