Timothy was already far down the road.
Sheila stood where she was, helpless and rooted to the spot.
He really was growing more and more concerned about Jessica.
Seven years had changed so many things.
Timothy tracked down Jessica's attending physician and finally learned the truth: Jessica had gone into shock from extreme fright.
The police had found her in her hotel room and brought her straight to the hospital.
The tight knot in Timothy's chest loosened, just a little.
He remembered, vaguely, a night years ago. A thunderstorm had raged outside, and they'd been curled up in bed. Jessica had clung to him so tightly, trembling. For once, she'd been the one to pull him in for a kiss, her hands tangled in his hair. Even afterwards, she'd stayed wrapped around him like ivy.
He'd never realized, until now, how afraid she was of storms.
Last night's thunderstorm was the worst in years—lightning webbing across the sky, thunder shaking the windows.
It was no wonder Jessica had been so terrified she'd gone into shock.
A pang of regret stabbed through Timothy.
He should have come straight here the moment his flight was canceled at the airport. Should have hired a helicopter if he had to.
Without another word, Timothy left the hospital.
Sheila lingered a while to collect herself, then made her way back up to Timothy's floor.
She waited in the hallway, expecting he would return any minute.
Instead, she saw him striding out of the hospital, still wearing the patient gown.
What is he thinking?!
Is he really going to see Jessica looking like that?
Sheila could practically hear her own heart shattering.
Timothy always cared about appearances. On a normal day, he was immaculate—tailored suits, clean-shaven, not a hair out of place, shirts pressed to perfection. There was never so much as a wrinkle in his clothes.
But now, he was frantic about Jessica. All those little things he used to care about—gone, just like that.
If it were anyone else, Sheila might have found it easy to ignore.
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