Every tenderness had been a lie.
Every act of protection, a calculation for better use.
Something inside Jocelyn went flat. Dead. Utterly spent.
"Ivor Sanchez. I've committed every word you just said to memory. I hope you never forget them either."
She turned and walked toward the staircase.
She had barely reached the landing when a tearing pain ripped through her lower abdomen. Days of medication had hollowed her body to nothing. Her strength gave out, and darkness swallowed her vision whole.
Ivor watched her swaying figure and felt a sudden, inexplicable surge of panic. He was about to step forward when Nellie went limp in his arms, her eyes fluttering shut as she slid downward.
"Nellie! Doctor! Get a doctor, now!"
He snapped his gaze back, swept her up in his arms, and rushed for the door.
Behind him, Jocelyn tumbled down the staircase. Blood seeped from beneath her, spreading across the floor in a widening stain.
No one looked back.
The acrid bite of disinfectant clawed its way into her nostrils. Jocelyn was about to open her eyes when she heard Ivor's voice, laced with concern.
"Doctor, how is she doing? She's not in any danger, is she?"