Christopher’s breath was unsteady, hitching in his throat as he inched closer to her bed. His eyes never left her face. That face he knew better than his own. The face he had traced with kisses, with laughter, with tears.
He saw her. She was right there. Alive. Breathing.
But her eyes…
They were wrong.
They were blank.
They were cold.
“Vivian,” he whispered. “Please. Just stop playing with me. You’re scaring me, baby.”
He reached for her, slowly, gently. His hand trembled as it moved toward her cheek, his fingertips brushing the side of her face like he always did when he needed to feel close to her. When he needed to come home.
But the second his skin touched hers.
She flinched.
Hard.
Her eyes widened, filled not with recognition, but terror.
“What the hell?” she gasped, her
