The Flower That Grew from Ashes novel Chapter 6

It felt as if an invisible hand were crushing Annelise's heart, making it impossible to breathe.

Just then, the door was pushed open gently.

It wasn't Hackett returning, but two nurses.

They wheeled her bed out, preparing to move her from the recovery area to a proper suite.

"Take it slow, the patient just got out of surgery." One of the nurses whispered.

The wheels rumbled softly across the linoleum floor.

Annelise kept her eyes shut, her eyelashes casting dead, still shadows under the hallway lights.

The anesthesia was still wearing off; her body felt like lead, but her hearing was sharper than it had ever been.

As they passed the nurses' station, she heard the nurse pushing her bed lower her voice and mutter to a colleague. "It gives me the creeps every time I see Dr. Lehman operate on his own wife..."

The other nurse chimed in immediately, her voice even lower, laced with a conspiratorial taboo. "This is the second time, isn't it?"

"Sure is. Four years ago, the appendicitis—he insisted on doing that one himself, too. You have to wonder about those two..."

"Shh!" The first nurse quickly cut her off. "Keep your voice down, do you want to get fired?"

The conversation died instantly.

But those words had already seared themselves into Annelise's brain like a branding iron.

Just as she thought, the appendicitis four years ago definitely hadn't been an accident.

The bed was wheeled into a more spacious suite and locked into place. The nurses adjusted her IV bags, checked the monitors, and quietly slipped out of the room.

After the door closed, the world fell silent once again.

Annelise could hear the sounds outside the window.

The wind had picked up. Then, raindrops began to smack against the glass, quickly blurring into a heavy downpour.

The rushing sound of the rain, mixed with the faint rhythm of her own exhausted breathing, sounded like a suffocating dirge played exclusively for her and her dead baby.

The very hand that had just murdered their child.

The very hand that had just tenderly caressed her forehead.

The door clicked shut. His footsteps retreated, and this time, they truly faded away.

In the darkness, Annelise fiercely gripped the edge of her blanket. Her nails dug so deeply into her palms that a sharp, piercing pain shot through her. That spark of pain made her instantly, flawlessly lucid.

The best choice? For "everyone"? Who exactly did this "everyone" include?

It included him, it included Clarissa, and it included a child named Manuel.

The only people it didn't include were her and the child who had just barely begun to form before being handed a death sentence by its own father.

The corners of Annelise's eyes burned with dry heat.

She didn't cry. Tears were the most useless thing in this world.