Chapter 3
Declan Price’s expression darkened in an instant. He drew in a breath, and his volce came out thick “Evie, I’m only asking you to go see her.”
“She really likes you,” he added: “She keeps saying you’re exactly the kind of woman she’d always pictured for her son
“Please do me this favor and visit her, will you?”
His voice cracked; there was moisture at the corners of his
s eyes.
I slid the book back onto the shelf and started to turn away.
“Evelyn Hart!” Declan’s voice rose, sharp and urgent. “Are you really going to be that cold?”
People in the aisles looked up. I stopped and met his annoyed gaze with a level calm.
“Professor Price, please watch your words,” Isaid. “We went on one disastrous blind date–that’s all there was between us. Yelling at me in public like this is already making things difficult.”
His chest rose and fell as if he were trying to shove down his anger. He said, “Fine,” three times, each one harder than the last. The look in his eyes was dark. “Evelyn Hart, I won’t forget this.”
Then he spun on his heel and left, his retreating figure rigid with wounded pride.
That evening m
my phone buzzed. An unfamiliar number flashed on the screen, and a weak, breathy voice came through.
“Is this Miss Hart?”
I heard it immediately–Cynthia Price, Declan’s mother.
“Hello, Mrs. Price,” I said, polite but distant.
“Oh, Evie.” Cynthia let out a long, dramatic sigh
“I know my Declan isn’t good enough for a girl like you.” Her words trembled. “But I just… I need to see you. I want to tell you a few things in person. It would mean the world to me.”
She sounded on the verge of tears,
I gripped the phone and went quiet.
This was the same pattern as before.
Anytime Declan wanted something, his mother would conveniently fall ill or make her heartache seem unbeatable–and I, every time, had soften and give in.
“Evie, I’m not asking much,” Cynthia begged. “Just come to the hospital and see this old woman, please. Do it for me.”
There was pleading in her voice, the kind that made refusal feel cruel.
I breathed in slowly. If I didn’t put a stop to this, they’d keep dragging me back. I had to end it on my terms.
“All right,” Isaid. “Send me the address. I’ll come by tomorrow afternoon.”
After the call ended I stared at the black night sky until my eyes felt cold. Declan Price–if you and your mother wanted to stage a performance, fine. I’d play along
But this time the script would be mine
The next afternoon I walked into Midtown Medical Center, steeled for the confrontation.
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Sierra Sanchez was waiting at the entrance to the ward, wearing a plain white dress and light makeup. She hurried toward me with a
worried, overly solicitous smile.
“Evie, you made it! Mrs. Price hasn’t eaten all morning–she’s been asking about you
as if we were still inseparable best friends.
I pulled my arm back calmly. “Is that so? Then let’s not keep her waiting.”
Sierra slipped her arm through mine
For a heartbeat Sierra’s expression flickered–something like unease–then she restored her warm, obliging mask and led me down the corridor.
The antiseptic smell hit us when we pushed open the door.
Cynthia lay pale and small in the hospital bed. Declan sat beside her, bringing a spoon to her lips and steadying the cup as she sipped.
When she saw me her eyes brightened. She struggled to sit up, voice wavering with feeling. “Evie, Evie, you came…”
