In the distance, to the light’s left, she detected strange sounds. Voices maybe? A banging, clanging. A bell ringing. Survivors of death never mentioned banging and bells. Just light. That had changed too. The crispness had dulled, and the edges blurred, as shadowed objects took shape, creeping out of the darkness. A pale blue haze hung over everything, as if each nameless outline wore a fluffy coat.

Nem tried to move her head again but a hot, sharp, needle-like pain pierced her neck. Her arm moved to touch the tender spot. But she didn’t have an arm, did she? Panic swamped her. This was wrong. The edges of the dark shapes sharpened. She’d made a mistake. She wasn’t dead at all.

Her breath caught in her throat, stopping a scream she couldn’t control. Again, she attempted to move her arm. Yes, now she felt her fingers wiggle, but a pressure held her hand back.

Through the gray, a darkness moved toward her and she screwed shut her eyes. The light had disappeared, and a warm breath traveled across her cheek. Her first instinct was to fight, with every fiber of energy left. She focused on her throat, her mouth, her tongue, in an attempt to call out. Wherever she was, she needed…

“He… help!”

There, she’d gotten it out, but her voice sounded weak and thin.

“Heeell-p.”

She opened her eyes but the dark shape remained, and her hand still felt imprisoned. The response that came was nearby and she shook with relief.

“Nem, Nem, oh my God.”

She tried to turn toward the person who’d spoken but again pain shot into her neck; this time, traveling through her arms into her spine. A moan escaped her lips, and she closed her eyes again willing this not to be a dream. She wasn’t ready yet to see her mom or leave Greg. Or the baby.

She wanted to have this child, to love and give them what she’d never had until Peg. Safety and a childhood free from horror.

“Nem, can you hear me?”

“Gre-eg?” she said.

The pressure on her hand released, and now a gentle touch swept over her cheek. A palm. Lips. The relief flooded through her as she moved her arm to reach for him. Her limb felt encased in concrete, but she found the strength to find his hand, resting so gently across the top of her chest. She squeezed a recognition.

Her eyes fluttered open to see the shadows nearly gone. Greg’s face glowed with a faint light and an excitement gripped her that at least she survived.

I’m so lucky danced in her mind.

They’d still be a family, and she’d make it work. First thing, the diary must go. Bury it. Throw it off the bow of a ship. Burn it. Get the thing out of their lives once and for all.

“Sorry,” she said, meaning it for so many things. Her mouth felt grit-dry and her tongue swollen but she needed to share her feelings. She wanted to reassure him she’d never be so foolish again. Her mind fought past the fogginess and forced the words out between them, so their relationship could heal.