I use every last bit of strength to lift my eyes to look at Monica. She’s glaring at us, her eyes moist and red-rimmed. The gun—she still has the gun. I forgot all about it. I can’t keep track anymore. I’m so tired. I’m so, so tired…

“She’s dead,” she hisses at us. “My mother is dead.”

“You’re the one who shot her,” Sam points out.

“I was aiming for her.” Monica’s eyes are like daggers as she lifts the gun in the air. “And this time, I won’t miss.”

Sam’s eyes widen when he sees what she’s doing. Honestly, I don’t know how I ever doubted his loyalty to me, because the first thing he does is hurl himself in front of me, so if Monica does fire a bullet, it will have to go through him first. I want to tell him not to sacrifice himself for me, but I can’t. My eyes are drifting shut—words would be far too much effort for me.

“You’ll have to kill me first,” he says to her.

“Don’t be stupid, Sam.”

He doesn’t say a word, but I feel his hand squeeze mine.

“That’s really what you’re choosing?” she says incredulously. “Her?”

“That’s right,” he says. “I’m choosing Abby.”

My hero.

I’m going to die knowing how much my husband loves me. That’s worth something.

My eyelids are too heavy to keep open. I hear the click of a gun being cocked. And then the explosion of gunfire for the third time.

Chapter 41

I wake up in a white room.

At first, I think it’s possible I’ve died and I’m in heaven. But no, heaven wouldn’t look like this. There wouldn’t be so many cracks on the ceiling in heaven. There wouldn’t be a clanging air conditioner next to my bed in heaven. And I probably wouldn’t have an IV in my arm either.

I’m thinking I might be in a hospital.

I struggle to swallow, but it’s hard with my throat so parched. The last thing I remember is the gunshot. Monica had the gun and she pulled the trigger. She shot at Sam.

Oh no…

He’s got to be dead. She shot him point-blank.

Except if Monica killed Sam, how did I get to the hospital? She sure wouldn’t have called for an ambulance.

I hear a groan and look to my right, which sets off a throbbing pain in my temple. There’s a blue recliner next to the bed, and lying inside it, covered in a light blanket, is my sleeping husband. He mumbles something in his sleep and shifts, trying to get comfortable.

He’s alive.