My Son-in-Law Told Me My Daughter Died—Then I Heard Her Breathe

PART 3

Just another fragile breath.

I rushed to the bedside.

The person under the sheet was turned toward the wall. An oxygen tube rested beneath her nose. Her dark hair covered most of her face.

But I knew that hair.

I knew the tiny silver clip near the back of her head.

Chloe had worn that clip since she was twenty-three.

My hands began shaking so violently that I could barely pull the blanket back.

And then I saw her face.

Pale.

Bruised.

Her lips dry and cracked.

But alive.

My daughter was alive.

“Oh, God…”

I dropped into the chair beside the bed and grabbed her hand.

It was cold.

But it squeezed mine.

Barely.

Yet enough.

“Mom?”

The word was so faint I almost missed it.

I pressed her hand against my cheek.

“Yes.”

My voice broke.

“Yes, sweetheart. I’m here.”

Her eyelids fluttered.

For one second, she looked directly at me.

Then fear exploded across her face.

“Don’t…”

She tried to lift her hand.

I leaned closer.

“Don’t what?”

Her breathing became faster.

“Don’t let… Julian…”

She stopped.

Her eyes widened.

Then she whispered something that made my blood turn cold.

“He knows.”

“Knows what?”

Chloe looked toward the door.

“Baby…”

My heart stopped.

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