The carpet in the grand foyer of the Whitmore estate was always cold in November.

I remember the smell of beeswax and lavender polish just before my knees gave out.

Then came the darkness, heavy and sudden.

When I opened my eyes, the ceiling was different.

It was made of white acoustic tiles, illuminated by the harsh hum of fluorescent lights.

St. Mary’s Medical Center smelled of antiseptic and ozone.

“Claire? Can you hear me?”

The voice belonged to Daniel Whitmore.

He was sitting on a plastic chair beside my high metal gurney, his expensive wool coat thrown over his lap.

His hair was untidy, a rare sight for a man who ran a shipping empire.

“Yes,” I whispered, my throat feeling like dry sand.

Behind him, two small figures huddled near the curtain.

Lucas and Owen, his five-year-old twin sons, were holding hands.

Their small faces were streaked with tears, their identical blue eyes wide with fear.

“Claire!” Lucas cried, breaking away from his father to grab the edge of my mattress.

“You’re awake,” Owen said, his voice trembling as he climbed onto the foot of the bed.

Daniel didn’t pull them back as he usually did when they got too close to the staff.

Instead, he watched them with a look of quiet bewilderment.

“They wouldn’t let the nurses wheel you in without them,” Daniel said softly.

He rubbed his temples, looking older than his thirty-eight years.

“They screamed until I promised we would stay right here.”

I reached out a trembling hand and let Lucas grip my fingers.

His palms were warm and sticky with juice.

“I’m okay, sweethearts,” I whispered, trying to smile.

“I just got a little tired.”

“Sing it,” Owen begged, burying his face in the hospital blanket near my hip.

“The green garden song, Claire. Sing it.”

I looked at Daniel, hesitation tightening in my chest.

But the boys were shivering, and the sterile hospital room felt so cold.

I began to hum, the melody low and familiar in the quiet room.

“Where the wild thyme grows, and the silver river flows…” I sang softly.

“Sleep, little birds, under the willow boughs.”