believing I would never see her again.
“No.”
Blythe frowned.
“Then who did?”
I thought about money.
Power.
The walls around my estate.
The guards.
The weapons.
All the things I had spent my life believing created safety.
Then I thought about a penniless twenty nine year old woman standing in freezing rain outside my gate because she had made a promise to someone the world believed was dead.
“Your mom saved us first,” I said.
“Then Elena saved us.
Then the doctors saved us.
Then a lot of people refused to give up.”
Blythe considered this carefully.
“So everybody?”
I smiled.
“Something like that.”
That evening, after the guests left, Genevieve and I sat on the back steps.
Rebuilding a marriage after mourning your spouse is a strange thing.
She had returned from the dead, but our old life had not.
Too much had happened.
She carried guilt for
