“I will rest after she wakes. I have to know she’s okay.”
Soft buzzing filled her ears. Bumblebees in spring. Cicadas in summer.
A thunderously jarring punch, a fist hitting a wall. A tree falling in the forest.
A tree.
Falling.
Falling.
Falling.
“No. I’m not moving. Why won’t she wake?”
Her eyes opened slowly, fluttering, and with great difficulty.
The room was dim, the bedding lavender. A hunched silhouette slumped on the edge of the mattress.
Margot shifted her weight. Her legs felt heavy and stiff.
Merrick’s head popped up. “Margot?”
He was a sight—jaw unshaven, cheeks hollow, dark circles etched beneath his eyes.
“Merrick?” she rasped.
“I’m right here.” He squeezed her hand, pushed back his seat, and called for Dr. Smalls.
When the physician entered, his face was grim.
“What happened?” she asked.
Merrick put his head in his hands. The knuckles of his right fist were bruised and swollen.
She dragged herself upright, leaned against the headboard. The slightest movement was tiring. A dull but persistent ache throbbed in her lower abdomen. She started to pull back the blankets; something wasn’t right. Her stomach…it was soft and doughy, where only yesterday, it had been stretched taut. A barely there swell, but she’d been able to feel it. It had been there. She was sure of it.
“What happened?” she repeated. “What happened to me?”
Her memories were fuzzy. She grabbed for them as she’d grabbed for silk magnolia blooms in her dreams.
Sunshine and soft breezes and spinning, spinning, spinning beneath a canopy of white.
But before that…before…
She’d chased Elijah in her dreams. Through the house. Through this godforsaken house.
And in the end, on the nightstand…
She remembered the teacup.
And that was it. That was how her whole world ended.
In a blasted cup of tea.
She heard her voice from a great distance, reflected back to her as though shouted from the end of a long tunnel. “Merrick, did something happen to the baby?”
His face was still buried in his hands. He could do nothing but shake his head.