Page 96 of The Surrogate Mother

“Don’t be stupid, Sam.”

He doesn’t say a word, but I feel his hand squeeze mine.

“That’s really what you’re choosing?” she says incredulously. “Her?”

“That’s right,” he says. “I’m choosing Abby.”

My hero.

I’m going to die knowing how much my husband loves me. That’s worth something.

My eyelids are too heavy to keep open. I hear the click of a gun being cocked. And then the explosion of gunfire for the third time.

41

Iwake up in a white room.

At first, I think it’s possible I’ve died and I’m in heaven. But no, heaven wouldn’t look like this. There wouldn’t be so many cracks on the ceiling in heaven. There wouldn’t be a clanging air conditioner next to my bed in heaven. And I probably wouldn’t have an IV in my arm either.

I’m thinking I might be in a hospital.

I struggle to swallow, but it’s hard with my throat so parched. The last thing I remember is the gunshot. Monica had the gun and she pulled the trigger. She shot at Sam.

Oh no…

He’s got to be dead. She shot him point-blank.

Except if Monica killed Sam, how did I get to the hospital?Shesure wouldn’t have called for an ambulance.

I hear a groan and look to my right, which sets off a throbbing pain in my temple. There’s a blue recliner next to the bed, and lying inside it, covered in a light blanket, is my sleeping husband. He mumbles something in his sleep and shifts, trying to get comfortable.

He’s alive.

Oh my God, he’salive. And he’s not on life support either. He’s doing well enough that he’s sleeping inmyhospital room.

“Sam,” I whisper. He stirs but doesn’t open his eyes. “Sam!”

This time his brown eyes fly open. He sits up in the recliner, a smile creeping across his face. “You’re awake.”

“Yeah.” I nod. “I’m awake.”

He reaches over and takes my hand. His is warm and comforting, which makes me self-conscious about how clammy mine feels. “Thank God you’re okay. I was so worried, Abby…”

I rub my eyes with the arm that doesn’t have an IV. “What happened?”

“What do you remember?”

I look at his left arm, which seems more or less intact. “You got shot.”

“Oh, that?” He pulls his hand from mine to rub at his arm. He winces. “It was a superficial wound. They bandaged it up in the ER. I’m fine.”

“But Monica…” I bite my lip. “She was pointing the gun at you. She was going to shoot you again.”

Sam lets out a long sigh and drops his head. “She didn’t shoot me. She…”

I frown at him. “What?”

“She shot herself.”