den

to snatch after hours of inconsolable weeping. My hand fumbled for the receiver, my heart already a frant

terile, confirmed my worst fears. "This is Dr. Evans from St.

e sound torn from the deepest part of my soul. "No, no, no." It couldn't be true. It simply couldn' t. Jul

zed my very core. My lungs burned, air refusing to enter or leave. I clawed at my throat, desperate for a breath, bu

ht harder. I should have found another way. I should have never trusted Kingsley. My mother's f

sister. He had taken her life with his callous indifference, his selfish arrogance. He had stolen the heart, but he had ri

ld went

guided by instinct. I found myself at Julia's graveside, the freshly turned earth a gaping wound in my heart. Two gra

rkling with dreams. She was just sixteen. Sixteen. She had wanted to travel the world, to sing, to

red, my voice hoarse, raw with unsh

ously. "Hayden," she said softly, her voice filled with gentle understanding. "I j

h. "Did you? Did you really, Fathe

mes," she began, then stopped, her words caught in her throat. She si

ging with it the scent of damp earth and dying leaves. I reached into my coat pocket, my fingers closing around the

by the window, watching the rain, years ago. She had just seen me cry after a particularly grueling ballet practice, my prostheti

" I had asked, skept

"I know so. And when you do, he' ll be the luc

I had believed I found that person in Kingsley. I had believed my love, though imp

n to fall, soft at first, then heavier, mingling with the fresh tears that streamed down m

rt of me, would no longer cripple me. Kingsley had taken everything, but he would not take my spirit. He would not take my will to fight. I would d