I heard my husband before I fully opened my eyes.
“Sleep, sweetheart.”
Gregory’s voice was soft.
“If everything goes well, in two days you won’t feel a thing anymore.”
My body felt impossibly heavy.
My mouth was dry.
There was a metallic taste on my tongue.
I could hear the slow electronic rhythm of a hospital monitor.
For several seconds, I did not remember where I was.
Then the room came back.
Saint Vincent Community Hospital in Columbus, Ohio.
My name is Jacqueline Palmer.
I was thirty-nine years old.
And for twelve years, I had built an interior architecture firm called
Vanguard Designs from nothing more than an inheritance, a rented office,
and the stubborn belief that I could create something of my own.
Gregory Palmer had been my husband for seven years.
When I finally opened my eyes, he was standing near the window.
He turned.
“There she is.”
