I had no time to converse with my dead husband right now. Instead, I gave them my name, and they told me floor four, and I got off and made my way to the nurses’ station. I tried to remain strong for my daughter’s sake.

Dear God, let her be okay. If I lose her, I won’t be able to cope.

My voice shook but at least it worked. “Francesca Ferrari. She’s my daughter.”

The nurse smiled and gestured down the hall. “Room 404. The doctor will be there shortly.”

“Thank you.”

They’d told me she was out of danger, but that was all I knew. I walked in and she was propped up in bed with some pillows behind her, eyes closed. I stopped at the edge of the bed, trying hard not to cry. She looked so fragile. None of her usual strength and force radiated from her figure. Even when she was young, she’d run from place to place with a determined focus to conquer every task. “Frannie?” I said softly.

Her eyes flew open. “Mom.” She shook her head, a self-conscious smile curving her lips. “I had an incident.”

I sighed and sat down, my hand automatically reaching for hers as I reassured myself she was okay. She accepted my embrace, her fingers curling around mine, and for a moment I remembered when she was young and used to hold my hand for guidance, her warm flesh a comfort and guiding light for every second of my day. Now I grabbed any crumbs my daughter would give me and was grateful.

I never realized motherhood could be so awfully lonely.

“What happened, sweetheart? What did the doctors say?”

“I was positive it was a heart attack. I never felt like that before—like I couldn’t breathe, and with this intense pain in my chest. It was awful. I collapsed at my meeting. They did a whole bunch of tests, but I feel fine now. The doctor said he’d be here to give me the results soon.”

I nodded, covering up the raw fear by rationalizing that if it was something serious, it could be fixed. Medicine was amazing nowadays, and she was young. “Okay. What about Allegra? Should I call her?”

“No!” She glared, showing some of her familiar spunk. “I don’t want her to know anything until I hear what the doctors say. There’s no need for her to panic and miss school.”

“Okay. Have you had any of these symptoms before? When was your last physical?”

She glanced away and dropped my hand. I’d already lost her. Irritation glimmered in her brown eyes. “Yes—I go every year, and everything was fine. I’ve had some anxiety issues lately, but I figured it was just the stress of this new account.”