Ava closed her eyes. Sebastian waited for her there, in her mind.

Her heart.

Sebastian had been her first love, and you never forgot your first. The Sebastian she had known had a lot of anger in him, yes, but she also thought he’d had a lot of potential.

And when she saw him recently, after those decades apart, she realized her instincts had been correct. She had been looking forward to getting to know him again. Who knew what would have developed?

Now she would never know.

That was probably for the best.

* * *

The ER doctor told her he had given Grace a mild sedative to calm her down. When the police brought her in, he said, she was barefoot and wearing only a Windbreaker and in a state of shock. She would not explain how she’d lost her clothes or how she’d gotten the fresh cuts and scrapes on her knees, thighs, hands, and elbows; but she did tell him a man named Paul had given her molly, and she kept asking if the entire world had been engulfed in fire. She said she wouldn’t speak to anyone except her mother. The doctor didn’t have the results from the lab yet, and he couldn’t say whether or not she had been sexually assaulted, because Grace refused to let anyone examine her.

Ava found it difficult to slide back the curtain. She didn’t know what condition Grace was in, and a part of her believed that some terrible mistake had been made.

With a held breath and with her heart slamming against her chest, Ava pulled back the curtain.

And there she was, her daughter, looking real and alive underneath the harsh overhead light. Grace lay on her back, her eyes shut and her features relaxed, her mouth parted slightly and her chest slowly rising and falling; she was lost in sleep. She wore a hospital gown, and her cuts and scrapes were covered in bandages and gauze, and she had an IV line connected to a bag of saline. The doctor said he wanted to keep her well hydrated.

Ava let out her breath, and the terror she’d been carrying dissolved like wet sand, made her knees buckle and her eyes water with gratitude. Grace had dried blood on her hands and forearms, and her toes and the soles of her feet were stained with grass and caked with dirt, and she reeked of smoke, but she looked okay. Ava was more worried about her daughter’s mental health.

Detective Bace hovered close by, along with a young nurse who wore a worried expression on her face. Ava did not want to share this moment with them. She asked for some privacy, and she did not wait for their answer. She slid the curtain back and, blinking back tears, fought the terrible urge to reach out and clutch her daughter, let out all the soul-crushing terror she’d been carrying for what felt like decades.

But this wasn’t about her; it was about her daughter. She needed to be strong. Be strong, she told herself as she sat on the side of the mattress. Be strong for her. This is about Grace, not you. Put her first.