My throat was still raw. Every breath felt like sand blowing across a wound. The monitor in the corner kept thumping like a slow, angry heart. I could feel the wolf inside me grow louder with each beat, a low growl that would not be quieted.
The door opened again. Mr. Gable stood in the doorway, his eyes tired but firm. He walked straight to the bed, lifted my son Marco from my arms and carried him out of the room. “I’ll take him to the hallway,” he whispered to me. “He’ll be safe.” I could not see him leave, but I heard his footsteps fade away.
Mrs. Gable stayed. She pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down, her hands resting gently on my shoulders. Her voice was soft, but it cut through the fog in my mind.
“You have to stop being selfish, Faith,” she said. “You are a mother. Marc
