And there was nothing I could do to stop him.

The silence of the hospital room pressed against my ears.

Outside, the rain streaked the thick glass of the window in crooked lines.

I stared at the white ceiling tiles, counting the tiny grey dots in the plaster.

Nurse Evans adjusted the IV drip, her rubber-soled shoes squeaking on the linoleum.

“Try to close your eyes, Claire,” she said softly.

“I can’t,” I whispered.

“Your body needs rest to heal,” she said.

She patted my hand, her palm warm and dry against my cold skin, before she left the room.

The door clicked shut, leaving me alone with the quiet hum of the machinery.

My mind raced down the wet highway toward the city.

I pictured Daniel driving my old sedan, his hands tight on the steering wheel.

He was heading to my small apartment on Elm Street.

He had my keys in his pocket.

He was going to open my closet.

My heart hammered against my ribs, and the monitor beeped a little faster.

I closed my eyes and saw the blue metal tin hidden beneath my winter coats.