My mother-in-law let out a horrified shriek.

And Marcus stood frozen near the door, and I heard him whisper, under his breath, a single word that damned him more completely than any confession could have.

“That’s impossible.” Not thank God. Impossible.

As though a faint heartbeat in his brother’s chest were a violation of some plan he had been counting on.

They rushed Mark to Northwestern Memorial, and Chloe and I rode alongside Teresa in an emergency vehicle.

When Marcus tried to climb into the front seat, I looked at him and said, coldly, “You’re not coming with us,” and I slammed the door.