I told myself I wasn’t a terrible mother for saying yes. I told myself there were worse things than being judged by strangers. There were hospital bills. There were doctors with careful voices. There was my daughter, Lisa, lying still in a bed while time ran out.
But on our wedding night, Adrian handed me a crimson envelope with Lisa’s name written across the front.
I told myself I wasn’t a terrible mother for saying yes.
“Open it,” he said.
I stared at him.
My comatose daughter’s name was in my new husband’s pocket.
“Adrian,” I said, “why is my daughter’s name on that?”
His fingers tightened around the envelope. “Because there is no way back now, Kirsten. There is no way out of this.”
