Chapter 2

Our wedding photo was gone from the wall facing Derek's desk.

After the meeting, he'd brought me into his office, still talking to Tiffany. In place of our picture hung a photograph of the rescue team.

Tiffany stood in the center, right beside him. I searched the other faces, though I already knew mine wouldn't be there.

Derek caught me looking and turned my wheelchair away. "Aria, that was taken the day of the interview..."

"Where's our wedding photo?" I twisted in the chair to look back at the wall.

Before he could answer, Tiffany dropped to her knees in front of me.

"Aria, I'm so sorry." She clutched my legs through the blanket. "You saved my life. You're the reason I wanted to do this job."

Her fingers dug into my injured thigh.

"Let go."

"Why couldn't it have been me?" She shook my leg as she sobbed. "Why am I not the one in this wheelchair?"

I caught her wrists and pushed her hands away. "I said let go."

Derek stepped between us. "Aria, what the hell is wrong with you? She's trying to apologize."

"She's hurting me." I held my leg still with both hands.

He helped Tiffany up and drew her against him. "It's okay. You don't have to do this."

Tiffany buried her face in his shirt. I could see her fingers closing around the fabric while he rubbed her back.

"The investigation was clear," he told me. "You didn't hear her report. You were upset and didn't double-check your gear."

"That's not true."

"If you had nothing against Tiffany, why did you keep blocking her field training applications?"

I opened my mouth, but Tiffany lifted her head. "Derek, please. What about Aria's future now?"

He looked down at my hands braced around my thigh.

"Aria, I'll take care of you. Always. But you have to promise me you'll stop doing this. You're my responsibility."

I turned my wedding ring with my thumb.

He'd been twenty-four when he'd slipped it onto my finger, his hands trembling. We'd been married for seven years.

"You want to be the best rescuer?" he'd whispered after the ceremony. "Then I'll be your strongest support, your home base."

Now he was holding another woman while he told me what he owed me.

Tiffany wiped beneath her eyes. "You're lucky, Aria. You've had your career, and now you have someone who'll look after you."

I looked at Derek, waiting for him to hear what she'd said.

He nodded toward the photograph. "You're her successor, Tiffany. The team needs you now."

Then he reached for my hair. "You're retired, Aria. Let the younger people have their chance. I'll handle everything else."

I turned my head before he could touch me. "I need to go back to the hospital."

He checked the time, then reached for the wheelchair handles. Tiffany picked up his jacket and followed us out.

Back in my room that afternoon, I waited until Derek had left before calling the admissions coordinator at the facility my lawyer had contacted.

She confirmed that my mother's records had been reviewed and a bed was available. There was a place for me in the rehabilitation unit, too.

"And the transport?" I asked. "She can't sit in a wheelchair. She'll need a stretcher."

"We have that noted. We'll coordinate both pickups with your care teams."

I wrote down the arrangements, then asked her to send the payment details directly to me.

Derek had told me to think about what my mother needed. I opened my banking app.

The savings account had been in my name for years. I checked the balance, paid the deposit, and saved the receipt.

Then I took a fresh sheet of paper and listed what I needed from the house: my documents, my mission logbook.

I stopped with the pen above the next line.

The little box of ultrasound pictures was still in our bedroom. I'd left it there before the mission, expecting to come home.

I sent the list to my lawyer so he could arrange to retrieve everything after we left.

The transfer confirmation arrived a few minutes later. I copied the date beneath the list and circled it.

Seven days. I wasn't telling Derek.