Chapter 21: The Taped Card

Jonas's POV

I woke at half past four to the lamp, and Jillian's weight on the edge of the mattress.

She was in my shirt again, with her knees drawn up.

In my open hand lay a card.

It had been torn across the middle, and the tape had gone yellow.

I knew it before I turned it over.

I had written the sentence myself in a hospital bed, propped on pillows, with my throat still raw from the tube.

*Whatever you ask, whenever you ask, it's yours.*

Under it, a phone number in my own hand, shakier than I remembered.

I had never seen it again.

"Brett tore it in two," Jillian said. "I taped it. I kept it in a drawer under my socks for three years."

"You never called."

"I told you why."

"I know why." I turned the halves over. "I'm trying to look at it."

The tape had been pressed down carefully, and the edges lined up exactly.

She had done it with a steady hand.

A strange ache tightened in my chest.

"I wrote that sentence eight times," I said.

"Eight?"

"The lawyers had a draft. It was two paragraphs. It said *compensation* and *gratitude* and *the family's appreciation.* I threw it at the wall."

She said nothing.

"I told them to find me one line she couldn't be insulted by. They couldn't. So I wrote it."

"It worked."

"It took you three years."

"Jonas."

"I'm not angry." My voice sounded strange to me, hoarse and thick. "I'm trying to tell you what it cost."

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