Tears stung my eyes for all the people who’d suffered over the years. My lungs burned, and I struggled to breathe. Did all of this really matter? I ached for the truth to surface. It seemed like I’d endured enough, but my longing mirrored selfishness. Love for Marissa had sealed my future, and I had no regrets there. Coming forward with the truth held no purpose, except to hurt my sister and her daughter. Locating the stolen money meant Denton’s case was closed and Travis’s legacy was established. Nothing I could do about Dad’s bitterness. But I would go to my death to find who stole the money for the African orphans.

Mom’s words flooded into my senses, the one thing she begged me to do. She suspected I’d sacrificed my life for my sister. “Bring the truth to light. Your dad’s blinded by too many things, and sweet Aria is confused. . . . Justice is light.” If only they could have talked longer, to find out if Mom really knew the truth. She used to say she knew her girls inside and out.

Hadn’t I already concluded that Mom’s medicine must have altered her thinking?

Sirens grew closer, and I prayed an ambulance was with them. Not sure I could handle anything happening to Aaron.

His phone lit up showing Isaac calling, and I released my pressure on Aaron’s wound long enough to press Speaker and answer.

“We’re about there. Any more problems?”

“Only my concern for Aaron.” My lungs were on fire. My head pounded. “Is an ambulance with you?”

“There’s two. Are you shot?”

“No.”

“You need medical help for the asthma.”

Instead of responding and using what little breath I had left, I collapsed over Aaron’s lanky body. He couldn’t die because of me.

I must have drifted into a fog because someone lifted me off Aaron and leaned me against the fridge. The person inserted a mouthpiece in my mouth. No need for instructions. I sucked in blessed air, a mist with some kind of beta-agonists, probably albuterol. I swept my gaze over the four paramedics in the small kitchen. Two positioned Aaron onto a stretcher while a third balanced an IV pole. I had dozed while they worked on him.

“Are you okay now?” The female paramedic knelt beside me. “We can transport you to the hospital.”

I shook my head and held up five fingers indicating five more minutes. An ambulance left with Aaron. The siren screeched and faded into the distance. Nearly an hour later, the female paramedic removed the nebulizer tube and checked my vitals. The second paramedic jotted down notes.

“She shouldn’t be left alone for any length of time,” the female paramedic said to Isaac.

“I’ve talked to a doctor and picked up some meds.”

Too weak to respond to their conversation, I mouthed a thank-you to both paramedics, and they left.

Isaac sat on the floor beside me. He opened a Walmart bag. “Here you go. I phoned the FBI doc, and he obtained your medical records. You have the real deal here, two filled prescriptions. One is a reliever inhaler, and another is a corticosteroid for long term. If the reliever doesn’t work, your lips or nails turn blue, or you can’t speak or breathe, we’re headed to the hospital. He recommends you see a doctor when this is over.” He opened the prescriptions and showed me the healing mists.