Millie’s lips quivered, her eyes brimming with hurt. “No, I’m just happy to help her.”
“Don’t make excuses for her,” he muttered, his face hardening. “Let her endure it for a few more hours.”
Then, without a backward glance, he strode down the hallway, Millie trailing close behind, her steps quick to match his.
The last strands of hope that had kept me fighting dissolved, leaving me in a haze of agony. In the emptiness, I tore at my own fingers, breaking each one, my hands grotesquely twisted and mangled. Blood streamed from my lower body, staining the cold bed in a crimson river, pooling beneath my shattered pelvis and battered uterus.
But now, at least, the pain was gone. The final scream I had managed moments ago had been my last, fading to nothing as my soul slipped free, gazing at the shell of the woman on the bed—a woman who looked more like a doll shattered beyond repair.
As I watched, a laugh of bitter sorrow rose from my spirit. Would Peter ever feel a flicker of regret or grief?
Perhaps he might, I thought… but no.