#Chapter 58 - What Could Have Been

Aldo The unceasing ache in my side was an ever-present reminder of how close I’d come to death. A reminder that, perhaps, I should have died—would have, without Layla’s influence. Now, returned and confined to my owner’s suite in the manor, the only thing keeping me sane was Layla’s presence. Night had fallen outside the sprawling windows overlooking the rear yard, and Layla moved about the bedroom with practiced ease. I couldn’t help but wonder how many patients she’d cared for in the last eight years. How many times she’d done this same song and dance. I still liked to think I was special. And yet, the way she moved, her shoulders taut, head down, movements stiff, I couldn’t help but think she was avoiding me. I could ignore the elephant in the room no longer. “Layla?” “Do you need something?” she turned, brows arching in questioning innocence. An expression of false politeness—a mask. Bedside manner. I knew her well enough to read the tension in every movement,