I followed him, holding Lauren close to my side as we walked through the sliding glass doors.

The air inside was warm and smelled of bleach.

We took the stairs to the third floor, our boots squeaking on the linoleum.

Room 314 was quiet, the door closed.

Ethan reached out his hand and turned the handle.

The door opened with a soft click.

Inside, the room was bright, the yellow light of the lamp illuminating the bed.

Mary Grace Fitzgerald was sitting up, her face pale but her eyes open and clear.

She looked at Ethan, then at me, and finally down at Lauren.

“Ethan,” she whispered.

Ethan walked over to the bed, his knees hitting the floor as he knelt beside her.

“Mary,” he said, his voice cracking as he took her hand.

“I’m here.”

I stood in the doorway, my hand holding the small leather book tight to my chest.

The nurse walked past us, her soft shoes making no sound on the floor.

She looked at me, then at the book in my hand, and gave a small nod.