Chapter 14

The question landed like a hammer: What if I'm right?For a moment, nobody spoke. The wind pushed rain sideways beneath the pavilion. Robert looked uncomfortable. Ethan looked frozen. And Maya simply waited.Finally, Ethan slipped the plastic bag into his coat pocket. "Thank you."The little girl smiled: not proudly, not triumphantly, just relieved—as if she had finally delivered something she'd been carrying too long.Across the street, church bells began ringing. Volunteers started gathering for evening service. Maya glanced toward the building. "I have to go."Ethan nodded. She turned to leave, then stopped."One more thing." She looked back at him. "If you want to know for sure..."Ethan waited."...you should ask somebody who isn't already telling you the answer."The statement sounded impossibly wise coming from a nine-year-old. Then she ran back toward the church, her coat flapping in the rain, her small figure disappearing through the doors.Ethan watched until she vanished. Only then did he reach into his pocket and touch the plastic bag again.Robert finally broke the silence. "Do you believe her?"Ethan stared at the church entrance. "No."But the answer didn't sound convincing, not even to him. Because for the first time since his accident, a possibility existed that terrified him more than losing the use of his legs: the possibility that his condition wasn't getting worse on its own; the possibility that someone wanted it to.And somewhere deep inside, a question was beginning to grow—a question he could no longer ignore: if Claire wasn't the person saving him, then who exactly had he been trusting all this time?The question followed Ethan Whitmore home like a shadow. It sat beside him during dinner, it lingered in the hallways of the mansion, it waited outside his bedroom door, and when he finally lay down that night staring at the ceiling above his bed, the question remained: Who?The rain continued long after midnight. Water streaked down the enormous windows overlooking Lake Michigan. The world outside looked blurred, uncertain, much like Ethan's thoughts.For six months, he had trusted doctors, therapists, reports, specialists, and Claire. Especially Claire: the woman who had never left his side, the woman everyone admired, the woman who cried when he suffered, the woman who reminded him to take every pill, the woman Maya seemed afraid of. The contradiction made his head ache.Around 2:00 in the morning, Ethan finally fell asleep. His dreams were strange: he dreamed he was running—not fast, not far, just running. His feet hit pavement, his lungs burned, his body moved effortlessly the way it used to, the way it was supposed to.Then suddenly, he looked down: the pavement vanished, his legs vanished, and a wheelchair appeared beneath him.He woke with a gasp, sweat covering his forehead, his heart hammering inside his chest. For several seconds, he simply sat there breathing. Then he looked toward his legs: still there, still weak, still his—at least for now.The next morning arrived clear and cold. The storm had passed; Chicago glittered beneath pale sunlight. Claire entered with breakfast and medication exactly as she always did. Nothing about her behavior seemed different; nothing seemed suspicious. That almost made things worse.Ethan accepted the pills, swallowed them, watched her smile. And for the first time since meeting Maya, he found himself wondering what would happen if he stopped.

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