I didn’t remember walking.
One moment I was in the car — the next I was at the back of the ambulance, my hands shaking so badly I could barely make them close into fists. Everything felt too bright. Too loud. The world was wrong without her standing in it.
She was on the stretcher.
Pale. Still.
Not breathing the way she should.
“No,” I whispered. “No, no, no—”
I stumbled toward the paramedics before anyone could stop me.
“Can I come with her?” The words tore out of my throat. “Please. She’s—”
My voice broke.
“She’s my wife.”
The word came out before I could think.
Wife.
It was a lie by human standards. I hadn’t marked her. I hadn’t claimed her. I hadn’t even kissed her long enough to make it real.
But in my blood, in my bones, in the way my heart felt like it was ripping itsel
