Then I pulled out my breathing tube and ended it all.
When my eyes opened again, I was back on the night my son's fever spiked.
This time, I dialed a different number. My voice was ice.
"The funding programs backing Corey Vance's band. Shut them all down."
...
I hung up, rushed my son to the hospital, and didn't let myself breathe until the doctor finished treating him.
My mind still hadn't fully surfaced. Behind my eyes, I could see it: Corey in my previous life, hunched over my hospital bed, begging.
His skeletal fingers had dug into my arm, carrying the obsession of half a lifetime.
"Caroline, I've been more than good enough to you. Just sign the divorce papers. I don't want a single thing."
"I told you back then, you and I aren't from the same world. Please... let me go. Once we're divorced, at least when I'm in the ground, Letitia won't resent me for never giving her a chance."
In that moment, my heartbeat had nearly stopped.
He was begging me to let him go.
Fifty years of marriage. I'd given up a career overseas to marry him, and in that instant, every sacrifice became a slap across my own face.