“And Carl Brenner will never set foot near that street again.”

He shifted the car into drive and pulled out into the slushy street.

The windshield wipers cleared the snow with a rhythmic click-clack.

We drove south toward St. Anne’s Hospital.

The city looked grey and tired under the winter sky.

“Do you think she’ll ever forgive me, Evelyn?” Ethan asked.

He didn’t look at me. His eyes were fixed on the brake lights of the car ahead.

“I don’t know, Ethan,” I said honestly.

“Five years is a long time to survive on your own.”

“She did it for Lauren,” I added.

“I know,” Ethan said.

“I should have been there.”

“You’re here now,” I said.

We turned onto the avenue leading to the hospital.

St. Anne’s was a massive brick structure, its windows glowing with yellow light.

Ethan parked in the visitor lot, the tires crunching over the fresh snow.

We walked through the sliding glass doors of the emergency entrance.

The air inside was warm and smelled of bleach and old coffee.

We took the stairs to the third floor.