Chapter 125: Maybe It's Justice

Savannah We came to a stop in front of what I guessed was Mom’s hospital room. The hallway smelled like disinfectant and lemon wipes—too clean, too sterile to feel real. My palms were damp, my throat tight. “Should I knock?” I asked Dean, my hand already hovering near the door. He gave me a look like I’d just suggested we call first. “For what? So your fiancé can attack me for letting you knock?” he muttered, half under his breath, before pushing the door open without waiting for my answer. I rolled my eyes. “You’re so dramatic,” I whispered, but even as I said it, my heart began to race. “And you’re stalling.” He said. He wasn’t wrong. The sound of the door clicking open seemed louder than it should’ve been. The air inside the room was colder, much heavier. Every step I took toward the bed felt weighted, like the floor was pulling me down with every inch closer. Because every step was a step toward her. The woman who gave me life. The woman who also stood by while my life quietly crum