Page 48 of Give Me Strength

The irony of my question doesn’t escape me. Isn’t that how Rachel and I came to be? Except… I doubt it’s the same situation. From his body language, it’s clear that he likes her. Although, that hint of familiarity claws at the edge of my mind, a loose puzzle I can’t quite fit.

Ernest scrubs a hand over his face. “It’s complicated. You and I, we’ve met, actually. Briefly, five years ago.” At my puzzled look, he adds, “Rose Tremblay was my niece.”

The rest of the puzzle pieces fall into place.

Small world indeed.

Rose was a patient at Aspen Grove nine years ago, and one of Rachel’s students at the time. She wasn’t my usual type of patient, and I was in between assignments at the time, so I took her on. I remember her clearly because their situation was similar to Ashlynn’s and mine’s. Rose’s parents had just died suddenly, and Ernest had been appointed her legal guardian since she was a minor at the time. I never met him then, but Rose spoke highly of him in our few sessions.

She was struggling with the sudden death of both her parents, and with her family’s reputation — specifically their strong ties to the Italian Mafia.

Her parents struggled with it too: her dad for being born into it, and her mom for marrying into it. She talked about how much worse her uncle had it. All three did what they could to keep her as far removed from the family as possible, but she still struggled to balance their expectations with her career plans.

Straddling both worlds was exhausting for a seventeen-year-old, and she wrestled with the decision to use her mom’s maiden name in the ballet world to separate both worlds. That it was one thing to be judged for her abilities, and she didn’t want people to assume she was something she wasn’t because of her family’s last name.

Very few patients whose stories and struggles stay with you — in a professional capacity, that is. Rose was one of them. Sheila took over her appointments when I got called away on an urgent assignment and had to leave again on short notice. I always wondered what became of her. Imagine my surprise when, four years later, I saw her name on the list of casualties from the accident. She was one of the passengers in Rachel’s car. Her injuries were extensive, and she ended up in a medically induced coma before succumbing to her injuries. It would’ve been kinder had she died on the scene like Rachel and Hannah did.

The whole thing was overwhelming, and I ran when the opportunity arose. I’m not proud of it, but I’m done running. I should never have run in the first place. When Rachel and I ran away from home decades ago, we decided to put down roots somewhere so we would never have to run again. We choose to settle down in Chicago together. Getting married was more of a legal formality to keep our families out of our lives. It worked, seeing as it didn’t take them long to label us the black sheep of the family and completely write us off.

Good riddance, I said

. Rachel and I had each other. It might not have been intentional, but our lives have always been intertwined one way or the other. Even though my career frequently took me out of the country, I always had a place to come home to. Rachel made sure of it.

That’s why her death hit me harder than I expected. And that’s why, as tempting as it was at first, I’m not the best person to help Ashlynn with her therapy. It would probably explain Sheila’s reluctance to take on another student connected to Rachel.

But, you know what?

Ballet wasn’t just Rachel’s world. It is my world, too. It was always my world; I just didn’t see it then, but I do now.

Ernest and I stand there in a comfortable silence, watching the café where our ladies are.

“We may have different roles, but it seems we share a common goal,” I tell him. “We both want to protect and support the women we care about.”

“Absolutely,” he replies with a small smile. “Wyn is everything to me. I want to make sure she’s happy and safe.”

I know exactly what he means by that.

“I feel the same way. Ashlynn’s been through a lot, and I want to be there for her and help her achieve her dreams.”

He nods, understanding in his gaze. “It’s not always easy, is it? Balancing our own lives with the responsibility of caring for someone else.”

“No, it’s not,” I concede. “But it’s worth it.”

Just then, Ashlynn and Wynter walk out of the café together, chatting and laughing. Ashlynn’s auburn hair glows in the fading light, falling in soft waves around her shoulders. Wynter’s arm is thrown over her shoulder as they cross the street together, her dark hair framing her face perfectly. They both look so young, yet so strong.

Ernest’s face lights up at the sight of his wife. “Here they come.”

A similar warmth spreads through me, a sense of pride and affection for the woman I have come to care about deeply.

Wynter sees us first, a warm, mischievous smile spreading across her face. She leans in and whispers something directly into Ashlynn’s ear. When Ashlynn looks up and sees me, she pauses mid-step and blushes, the rosy hue in her cheeks deepening. Wynter then drags her the rest of the way and practically shoves her into my arms.

“Lynn has something to tell you,” she says with a wink.

“No, I don’t,” Ashlynn objects hotly. “And I see you two have met each other.” She turns to Ernest. “Did Wyn tell you about?—”

Wynter slaps a hand over her mouth. “How come you’re here?” she asks her husband. “Why didn’t you send one of your goons to pick me up?”

He shrugs. “I was in the neighborhood.”

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