Page 36 of The Edge Of Us

Tears welled in his eyes. “Can’t you stay?”

“I wish I could,” I whispered, holding him tighter than I ever had. “But Nana will be here, and she’s going to take amazing care of you and Astrid. You’re going to be brave for me, okay?”

He nodded slowly, wiping his face on his sleeve. “Can I draw you pictures?”

“Please,” I said with a soft smile. “And save them all. I’ll need something to look at on the hard days.”

Then I turned to Astrid. My mother brought her over, and I took my baby into my arms. She cooed at me, her chubby fists curling in my shirt. I kissed her soft hair, breathing in that warm baby scent like it was oxygen.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered into her ear, my tears finally falling. “I wanted to be stronger for you. And I will be. I’ll come back whole.”

She gurgled in reply, blissfully unaware.

“Okay,” my mom said gently, her voice thick. “It’s time.”

We drove in silence.

The hospital was clean, modern, surrounded by quiet trees. It didn’t look scary. But to me, it might as well have been the edge of the world.

At the entrance, I turned to my mother one last time. Her face was streaked with tears.

“You can do this,” she said, cupping my cheeks. “Every step you take inside is a step back to your children. Remember that.”

I nodded, my throat too tight to speak.

Then I stepped forward.

The door opened with a soft click. A nurse in pale blue scrubs gave me a small, welcoming smile. “Corinne Woods? We’ve been expecting you.”

I looked back one last time.

Kyle was waving from the car window, his face pressed to the glass. My mother held Astrid in her arms, rocking gently.

I lifted my hand. A wave. A promise.

And then I stepped inside.

The door closed behind me, and for the first time in a long time—I let myself breathe.

I was here.

I had chosen to stay.

This was the first step.

Chapter 23

Corine

A Month Later

It had been thirty-four days, ten hours, and I'd finally stopped counting the minutes.

The facility wasn't as cold as I thought it'd be. At first, yes-it felt sterile. Like grief in a white coat. But now... now I was starting to breathe again, even if it still hurt a little to inhale.

They kept the windows locked, but the sun still poured in every morning like it was trying to reach me. Some days, I let it.

I sat in the common room, sketching in a journal Dr. Bennett had given me. Not because I wanted to draw, but because she told me I could write anything except what I posted online. "No captions. No filters. Just you," she said.

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