Page 57 of Make You Mine

She rummages for a moment beneath Emmett’s blanket before retrieving the tattered white rabbit she never goes anywhere without. Its ears are chewed up, its paws permanently discolored from weeks of playground grime. She clutches it to her chest as she hurries back, climbs onto the edge of the bed, and tucks it beneath Amerie’s arm.

“There,” she whispers, kissing her mum’s cheek. “Now you won’t be scared.”

Jealousy twists in my stomach.

It’s revolting, the way they cling to her. The way they worship her even now, while she lies limp and unresponsive, a barely breathing version of the woman they love.

I’mthe one who got the children here safely.I’mthe one who held Willow’s hand and soothed Emmett’s cries.I’mthe one who remembered the baby’s spare bottle, the nappies, the snacks, the iPad charger.I’mthe one who kept everything from falling apart. And yet no one even thinks to thank me.

No one notices me at all.

They fall over themselves to fuss over a woman who’s given them nothing but panic and pain.

Thirty minutes pass. Possibly more. Time melts in places like this—sterile, humming spaces where the mood is morose and glum.

Eventually, Dr. Sharma returns. He taps lightly on the frame of the door, though it’s already open, and nods to Declan.

“Would you mind stepping outside with me for a moment?” he asks. “I’d like to discuss more details about your wife’s condition.”

Declan’s nod is slow and mechanical, like he’s still processing what’s happened.

Before he gets far, Willow tugs on his sleeve.

“Daddy,” she squeaks, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “I have to go pee.”

He gestures to the adjoining ensuite, and she scampers off, the sound of her trainers squeaking against the floor giving way to the click of the bathroom door behind her.

Declan follows the doctor out into the hallway, his shoulders slumped and hands shoved into his pants pockets.

And at last, I’m alone with her.

A pulse of adrenaline rolls through me like a hot and intoxicating current. It hums beneath my skin as I take a slow step toward the bed, the silence of the room folding around me like a closing curtain.

She lies there, utterly defenseless.

Declan is gone. Willow’s tucked away behind the bathroom door. Amerie is alone with me, unconscious and helpless to the threat looming over her.

I drift closer.

The machines don’t protest as I lean in, their beeping calm, steady, indifferent. I could so easily silence them. One press of a button or a tug of a cord. A pillow drawn gently up over that blank, expressionless face.

The idea takes root. My fingers twitch at my side.

It would be so easy.

No blood. No mess. Just a gentle hush, like sending her to sleep one final time.

The weaker she becomes, the stronger I become.

The woman I once admired, whose writing I poured over late at night, sitting cross-legged in bed with deep longing in my chest. She’s here, helpless, pathetic, flattened by circumstance.

I used to think she was brilliant. She was so perfect and prolific.

But up close, stripped of her polish, she’s just another brittle little thing that’s cracked under pressure.

They always do.

My gaze drops to her throat, and for a moment I wonder how long it would take. How quiet it would be. Would she even stir? Would her eyes flutter open just for a second, only to see me, and know?

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