MY MOTHER CALLED MY WIFE “DRAMATIC” AFTER I FOUND HER HALF-FROZEN AND BRUISED IN THE SNOW, BUT WHEN I SAW THE OPEN WINE FROM MY FATHER’S PRIVATE CELLAR AND THE DOCUMENTS THEY WANTED SIGNED, I KNEW THIS WAS PLANNED.

The sun was just beginning to paint the winter sky in pale shades of orange and grey when I walked back into Claire’s hospital room.

She was awake this time, propped up against the pillows. The IV line was still taped to the back of her hand, but the frightening blue tint had left her lips, and her eyes—though still tired—held a spark of life I hadn't seen in two years.

When I pushed the door open, she flinched, then looked up.

“Ethan?” she whispered, her voice rough.

I walked straight to the bed, dropping down on my knees beside her, and gently took her fragile, bruised hands in mine. I pressed my forehead against her knuckles, feeling a heavy tear finally break free.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” I choked out, my voice thick with emotion. “I’m right here. And you’re never going to be alone again.”

Claire let out a shuddering breath, her fingers tightening weakly around mine. “They... they told me you wouldn't come back in time. They said you didn't care about me anymore.”

“They lied,” I murmured, kissing her palm. “They lied about everything. Mother was arrested an hour ago. The forged deed is being voided by the prosecutor, and this house—everything my father built—belongs to us. Just us.”

Claire closed her eyes, a single tear slipping down her cheek, not of fear, but of profound, long-overdue release.

“Take me home, Ethan,” she whispered.