Jasper’s POV
I didn’t remember how I got from the corridor to the plastic chair. One heartbeat I was watching them wheel Scarlett away, her fingers sliding out of mine, the next I was sitting with my head bowed and my hands shaking, the scent of antiseptic stinging the back of my throat.
The consent form sat in my lap like a verdict. My signature was still a bruise on the page.
Miriam was two chairs down, elbows on her knees, eyes closed. She didn’t speak. Thank God she didn’t speak. There was nothing anyone could say that would stitch this open wound shut.
Clock. Tick.
Air vent. Hum.
Shoes somewhere far down the hall. Squeak. Squeak.
I pictured scalpels. I pictured bright lights and strangers’ hands inside the person I loved most in the world. I pictured a tiny spark we had made to
