Rowan. The tremor in Kate's voice reveals a mother's heart torn by worry. “How is she doing, Rowan?” she asks, barely holding back the tears. It’s been an agonizing few days since the tragic bombing, a whirlwind of horror, and my mind still reels at the thought of how close we came to losing Ava. “She woke up yesterday, just for a few fleeting moments, before drifting back into sleep. But before you start panicking, the doctor assured me that it’s normal for head injury patients.” I attempt to lend her some comfort. I hear a sigh of relief escape her lips, a sound that underscores her fear and longing. Since her husband’s untimely death, Kate has been a different woman, desperate for closeness to Ava, but sadly, Ava has chosen isolation, pushing everyone away. “Will she be okay? Will she make a full recovery?” Her voice is tinged with hope, yet heavy with apprehension. “Yes,” I reply, “the doctors are confident, but they can’t guarantee complete recovery just yet. It’s early to tell, and with a head injury like this, complications could arise.” The thought chills me to the bone; I’ve been dreading uncertainties like these. All I want is for her to be safe and whole again. “Don’t worry, Ava is strong. I’m sure she’ll pull through. I need to go now, but I’ll call you as soon as she wakes up. Last time she did, she was asking for Noah.” “Okay, Rowan, please keep me updated and ensure she’s receiving the best care possible.” “I will,” I promise, and we hang up. I look down at Ava, resting so peacefully, so beautifully before me. How have I never noticed how flawless her complexion is? Or those long, dark lashes framing her eyes? And those lips, so full and tempting… ‘Because you never allowed yourself to see her,’ my inner voice chastises me. I let out a deep sigh, acknowledging that harsh truth. For far too long, I fixated on my anger and resentment, blocking out everything good about her. But now, with this new version of Ava before me—fragile yet resilient—she commands my attention. I gently cradle her small hand in mine, feeling the softness of her skin, the delicate pulse beneath—each heartbeat a reminder that she is still alive, that she survived that damned bombing. Every time I replay that Sunday in my mind, a sharp pain grips my heart. Desperation had flooded me when I received her panicked call, urging her to steer clear of Emma. Emma had confided in me, tears streaming down her cheeks, telling me Ava had unleashed a verbal barrage on her. Then came the sound—the deafening blast, the chaos of sirens and screams. I remember the gut-wrenching moment when I was informed that Ava’s car had been bombed. The fear I felt then was primal, visceral—something I couldn't even begin to articulate. I pull myself from those dark reflections, glancing around her hospital room. A multitude of gifts from visitors, mostly her students, are piled high, some even left at her home. These kids adore Ava; it’s clear as day. Each day they visit in groups, calling her nurse with inquiries about her well-being. Once, I never valued her work; I dismissed it with the arrogance of ignorance. But now, watching her students shower her with love, it dawns on me how wrong I was. They wouldn’t rally around her like this if she weren’t an extraordinary teacher. The praise from her colleagues only deepens my regret about how little I truly knew her life. “Rowan,” a soft voice pulls me from my thoughts. I turn to see Emma standing there, accompanied by Travis, the weight of worry etched on their faces. Travis—he looks like he’s been through the wringer. “Has she woken up?” Travis asks, his voice barely above a whisper. The atmosphere shifts; it’s palpable how this ordeal has rattled him, a brother, standing on the edge of loss. “No,” I reply, feeling the knot in my stomach tighten. “You need to go home, Rowan,” Emma says, concern etched on her features. “Take a shower, change your clothes. You look like a zombie.” “I’m not leaving, Emma,” I snap back, the thought of abandoning Ava is intolerable. “You won’t be any good to her if you collapse from exhaustion. Just go home, I promise it won’t take long for you to look presentable,” Emma counters with reason, her voice calm yet firm. Travis nods in agreement, “Emma's right, Rowan. We’ll stay here. We won’t leave her side.” I glance back at Ava, still asleep and seemingly far from waking. Maybe I could steal a quick shower and dash back in no time. “Fine, but promise me you won’t leave her alone,” I snarl, tension coiling in my chest. After all, she was targeted; who knew if the perpetrators would return to finish what they started? With consensus in the air, Travis confirms with his eyes, while Emma’s piercing gaze meets mine with an unspoken bond of understanding. I push myself up to leave, but Emma gently grasps my forearm, her touch sending a jolt through me. “She’s going to be okay. Ava is too stubborn to let anything take her away,” she assures me, her smile warm as she places a brief kiss on my lips. My heart races; this feels new, an uncharted territory for us. Since rekindling our romance, our exchanges have been innocent pecks on cheeks or foreheads, but this—this kiss—it stirs something deep within me. Yet, as I pull away, a dissonance wells up inside. This kiss feels inappropriate, tainted. Why does it bother me so? Emma is the woman I have longed for, yet here I stand, feeling guilt gnaw at me. Arriving home, I rush through a shower, my mind racing ahead, worrying about Ava. Once I’m dressed, a text from Travis flips my world upside down; Ava has awakened. Rage courses through me that I wasn’t there to see that moment. I drive like a man possessed, weaving through traffic, pushing every speed limit imaginable. I reach the hospital in mere forty minutes. As I approach her room, I spot Emma and Travis sitting outside, looking tense. “I told you not to leave her side,” I growl, my anger boiling over. “She kicked us out,” Emma states flatly, her voice devoid of emotion. “What do you mean ‘kicked you out’? There’s no way Ava would do that.” As much as she's distanced herself from her family, she wouldn’t shun them during such a critical time. “Exactly that,” Travis interjects quietly, “she told the nurse she didn’t want us with her, and the nurse had no choice but to make us leave.” I can see the suppressed emotion in his tone. He’s trying to remain strong, but it’s breaking through his facade. Suddenly, I hear Ava's laughter echo down the corridor, only to be followed by a groan. Anxiety surges within me. “Is there someone with her?” I inquire, an unsettling feeling creeping through. Emma turns to me, her eyes reflecting her unease. “Yes, Ethan arrived just after we were ousted. He hasn't left her side since.” A surge of anger courses through me, my fists clenching as I contemplate that bastard’s presence. What right did he have to be here? Without a moment’s hesitation, I push open the door to her room, stepping inside unannounced. Ethan is seated beside her, surrounded by an array of cards, all open and waiting for her to read. Ava is propped slightly up, a smile breaking across her face, despite the bandages and bruises that mar her beauty. As soon as she sees me, the joy drains from her face, replaced by a hard glare. “Get out,” she commands, her voice cold as ice. I refuse to back down. “Not going to happen, Ava,” I assert, taking a seat on her left. Fury etches itself across her features, a look so fierce it sends adrenaline coursing through my veins. She was kind yesterday—what shifted so dramatically overnight? “I don’t want you here. Just leave, and take those two with you. I don’t need any of you,” she dismisses, her voice like a dagger. I realize she’s directing that at Emma and Travis, seething with a frustration I can't comprehend. Something has shifted; she was calm before, but now she’s a tempest. “You need to calm down, Ava,” Ethan interrupts, attempting to wrangle her temper. He squeezes her hand, and she glances at their entwined fingers. Suddenly, her expression softens, the fire dimming in her eyes. A dark cloud of jealousy envelops me as I clench my fists. Why does it infuriate me to see her warmth directed at him instead of me? Shouldn’t I feel relieved that she’s found solace in another man after all my anguish? Yet, all I feel is a suffocating rage. Before I can unravel my turmoil, the door swings open, and the chief of police strides in, a serious look on his face. Ethan relinquishes Ava's hand and stands up, greeting him. “Chief.” “Good to see you, Ethan,” the chief responds, clapping Ethan on the back before turning serious. “Miss Sharp, I need to ask you a few questions.” Ava nods, Ethan sitting back down and grasping her hand once more. “Can you recall anything unusual from the day of the attack?” he queries, producing a notepad and pen. “No, it was a typical day for me. I woke up, had breakfast, and went to church,” she replies, a hint of confusion in her tone. “What about the day before? Did you notice anyone suspicious?” Shaking her head, she frowns, shifting in discomfort. “Do you have enemies? Anyone who might wish you harm?” he presses, eyes keen. “I tend to keep to myself,” she says softly. “I can’t think of anyone who would want me dead.” “Have you got enemies? You didn’t answer my question.” She rubs her temples, the frown deepening. “Sure, I have people who don’t like me, like my family, but I can't believe any of them would stoop to such a level.” The chief considers this, jotting down notes. My mind races, a nagging suspicion festering. “From our investigation, it seems the bomb was planted while you were at church and was triggered when you used your keys to unlock your car. Did you hear anything strange before that?” he questions. “No, I was a bit distracted,” Ava replies—her words send a wave of guilt crashing over me. I’d distracted her with my angry phone call. “Why are you asking these questions? Wasn’t her attack linked to the criminal gang?” I interject, feeling a palpable tension in the air. “That’s what we initially thought, especially following the shootout. But after the bombing incident on Sunday, we believe Ava may have been specifically targeted. We aren’t sure if it’s gang-related or someone else,” he explains, leaving us in stunned silence, grappling with the dark implications of his conclusion.