“It’ll be difficult, but no one fights as hard as you.” My mom chokes. She pauses, strokes my hair. “When you and your sister were born, doctors warned us. Neither of you were expected to live. You especially. Both of your lungs were collapsed. Your sister made it a week in the NICU. She fought hard, but she was so tiny.” Her voice breaks. She swallows. “You were even smaller. Barely bigger than my hand. But you were so strong. You had this fight inside you, this will to live. For three months, I watched you exceed the hospital’s expectations. You hated the tube that helped you breathe. So you showed us you could breathe without it. You kicked out the IV in your foot when you didn’t need it anymore.” She laughs. “You ripped out your feeding tube and started eating on your own before any of us thought you were ready.”

I sit back to look at her. My mom’s face is red, puffy, and drenched. Somehow she’s more beautiful when she cries.

“Your father and I were so amazed by you. We always have been. You have more strength, more will, and more fight than anyone I’ve ever known.”

“What if that’s not who I am anymore?”

She smiles. Her eyes bend. “Strength isn’t defined by who can hit the hardest in a fight, but by who’s still standing at the end.”

Something resembling warmth fills the cracks inside me. I should hug her, tell her I love her, tell her how much I need her to help me survive all of this. And I will when my words and my body start working again. But for now, I lean on her shoulder as she strokes my wet hair.

Outside the windows in our room, the city buzzes with life like nothing has changed. The city pulsates even though Ryan is dead and Richard is no longer in control.

I take a deep breath. Close my eyes.

That’s when someone knocks on the door of our hotel room.

Chapter 32

CHAPTER 32

Both of us freeze.

My mom swings her legs down from the bed and stands before I can even blink. She tiptoes past the sliding wood doors and into the living room. Her eyes are focused, her expression tight. She looks courageous in a way I could never pull off. Then she slips around the corner and I can’t see her anymore.

My stomach sinks.

I imagine her leaning against the door and pressing her eye against the peephole. I wait for her to come running around the corner toward me, so that we can find an escape or a place to hide from the hit man at the door. I should find my phone to call the police or live stream my murder. At least then whoever’s here to kill me wouldn’t get away with it.

I strain my ears. Nothing.