As dawn broke, Gwh''s fever finally stabilized.


    Hawthorne hadn''t slept a wink, and when he caught his reflection in the mirror, he saw the dark stubble that now shadowed his jaw.


    Just then, a knock came at the door.


    "Mr. Everhart," Butler Parham announced softly. "The doctor is here."


    Parham had summoned the family doctor first thing in the morning.


    Hawthorne quickly opened the door to let him in.


    Thanks to Hawthorne''s tireless care throughout the night, Gwh''s fever had already subsided.


    The doctor, after a quick examination, confirmed she was out of immediate danger. He prescribed some anti-inmmatories and started an IV drip to rehydrate her.


    "Physically, Mrs. Everhart should be fine with some rest and nutrition," the doctor exined. "However, it''s clear she is under immense emotional distress, and that''s taking a physical toll. It''s crucial that she finds some peace of mind."


    Knowing the root of the problem might help her recover faster.


    After Hawthorne saw the doctor out and returned upstairs, he found Gwh awake.


    She was staring nkly at the ceiling before she shot upright, the movement pulling at the IV needle in her hand.


    She winced, a soft frown creasing her brow.


    "Connor," she breathed, the name a pained whisper.


    A nightmare had jolted her awake, leaving her drenched in a cold sweat.


    In her dream, she had seen Connor, covered in blood, being wheeled into the hospital on a gurney with a white sheet pulled over his head.


    The image of death had terrified her into consciousness.


    Hawthorne, having just returned, walked slowly to her bedside, holding her medication.


    "You''re awake," he said gently. "You had a high fever all night. Take this."


    Gwh''s face was ashen, her lips drained of all color.


    "Connor... there was a terrible ident yesterday. It was my fault. I have to go to the hospital and see him."


    She couldn''t shake the memories of


    the crash-the deafening sound


    the


    Lore


    plosion and the thick, ck


    smoke that still clouded her mind.


    The mention of Connor''s name made Hawthorne''s brow furrow.


    "There''s been nothing about him in the news, so assume he''s not dead," he said, his tone sharp. "He''s the one who drove off with you and


    was racing recklessly. If you


    should be the one settling the score with him."


    ?


    He still hadn''t dealt with Connor for taking his wife.


    Gwh shot Hawthorne a cool look. He had some nerve.


    She bit back the retort that if it weren''t for that post she saw on social media about him and Patt Yale, she wouldn''t have been distracted in the first ce, and Connor wouldn''t have crashed trying to save her.


    "The ident was my fault," she stated, her voice firm. "I have to go to the hospital


    and see him. I''m going, whether you like it or not."


    Her tone was resolute, leaving no room for argument.


    "You still want to see him? You were sick all night because of him!"


    I was sick because of you, Gwh nearly screamed, the words catching in her throat.


    The thought of him and Patti Yale sent a fresh wave of despair through her, but showing weakness now felt cheap.


    Hawthorne didn''t truly care about her, so why should she strip herself of her dignity and be worthless in his eyes?


    "Think what you want," she said, her voice t. "I''m going to the hospital. You can either drive me, or I''ll call a cab. Your choice."