“Did he know when I rang the bell?”
The treatment center had a brass bell patients rang after completing a major stage. I had resisted because it felt theatrical, then Elise and Jonah had bullied me into it.
Wade nodded.
“I told him that night.”
“What did he say?”
Wade stared toward the front door.
“Tell me.”
“He cried.”
The answer was quiet.
I closed my fingers around the brass key until the teeth bit my palm.
“Was he still talking then?”
“Yes.”
“Could he have called me?”
A long pause.
“Yes.”
My grief sharpened.
“He could have called.”
“Yes.”
“And he didn’t.”
“No.”
“Because my treatment wasn’t officially successful.”
“That was part of it.”
“What was the other part?”
Wade’s gaze went to the letter.
I followed it.
The final paragraphs remained unread.
I looked down.
There were many times I nearly called.
My pulse thudded.
