But her eyes were open.
When she looked at Ryan, every excuse inside him turned to ash.
“Claire,” he whispered.
She did not smile.
She did not cry.
She simply stared at him as if she were seeing the truth of him for the first time—or as if she had seen it long ago and had finally stopped hoping it would change.
“How is she?” Claire asked.
Ryan frowned.
“What?”
“Our daughter,” she said, weak but steady. “Did you ask about her first?”
Ryan’s face crumpled.
“I… I asked. They told me she’s alive.”
Claire closed her eyes.
A single tear slipped down her temple.
“She is alive because strangers came when you would not.”
Ryan stepped closer.
“I’m sorry.”
The words sounded small, useless, pathetic.
“I made a mistake.”
Claire opened her eyes again.
“No, Ryan. A mistake is forgetting milk. A mistake is missing an appointment. You left me to die.”
