I have never been a religious man.
But as I kneel by her side, Silas pumping the blood around her body and Kit breathing air into her lungs, I pray.
To every fucking deity out there.
You can have me.
Take me instead.
Just don’t take her.
I make a dozen bargains, a dozen exchanges in my head. And when Kit shouts, his voice jubilant, it takes me a moment. I almost expect my own heart to stop beating as I stare at her chest. At the faint rise and fall.
It wouldn’t matter. My heart belongs to her anyway.
But as the minutes creep on and that rise and fall continues, I realize that I’m not going to die today.
Silas forces water into me, he and Kit working to strip the bed beneath her and put clean sheets on. Then Kit lifts her up, as Silas slowly peels the top from over her head to put a clean shirt on her.
“What the fuck is that?” He stops, staring down as Kit and I crane to look.
It takes me a moment to remember. To remember Ella Cooper, peering into her wardrobe.
You don’t have any belts here.
“Belt marks.” It sounds wrong on my tongue, so I say it again when they both look at me. Kit closes his eyes.
Silas doesn’t speak at all. His jaw tightens as he gently tugs the shirt over her. Something drops down, and I reach out. “What’s this?”
And his eyes flare wide with shock. “That’s – give it here.”
He takes it, turning it over in his hands. “This is Mother’s wedding ring.”
Kit and I turn to stare at him, as the shock flares in my chest. “What?”
“She kept it,” he says slowly. “Angelica took it from Dad’s bedside table. She must have… she got it back. Somehow.”
He sounds as though there’s not enough air in the room.
And then he leans down. And he slides the ring onto her finger.
“It fits,” I say softly. His eyes are wet when he looks at me.
“Like it was made for her.”
