Before I could get a word out, a woman's voice floated through the speaker.
"Come on, let's go get Thai food on the south side. That place is so popular. If we don't hurry, we'll have to wait in line."
I knew that voice. I knew it as well as my own. My adopted sister. The woman who held his heart.
The line went dead.
Every drop of blood in my body turned to ice. I stood in that vast, freezing hospital corridor, phone clutched in my hand, and the world went black.
When I opened my eyes again, I was lying in a hospital bed. My chest felt like someone had pressed a white-hot brand against it, a suffocating, smoldering ache.
Guy's assistant stood at my bedside, his tone careful. "Mrs. James, Mr. James asked me to let you know the funeral will be held this afternoon. He'd like you to get ready."
My pupils contracted. I ripped the IV needle from the back of my hand, grabbed the assistant by his collar, and yanked him toward me. "Where is my daughter? Where is he?"
"Mr. James already took her, ma'am. He said he'd handle the funeral arrangements. He didn't want you to overexert yourself."
My fingers uncurled, one by one. I fell back against the bed, hollow.
I checked myself out and went home to sort through my daughter's belongings.
The moment I stepped into her room and picked up the little dress she'd loved most, a sharp acid burn shot from my stomach to my throat.
I stumbled into the bathroom and retched over the toilet, but nothing came up except bile.
A single thought flashed through my mind.
Gripping the cold edge of the sink, I stared down at the pregnancy test with shaking hands.
I was pregnant.
I stared at the two red lines, my stomach lurching.
Was this a gift from God?
A flicker of joy sparked inside me, only to be swallowed whole by the grief of losing my daughter.
My daughter had left me just yesterday.
I forced myself to push open the door to her room, tears brimming as I packed her toys into a box, one by one.
Then I saw the smart speaker sitting on her nightstand. The tears spilled instantly. My hands trembled as I picked it up.
She used to record her day on this speaker, little updates and things she wanted to tell me. Every night before bed, she'd curl up on my lap and play them back, beaming the whole time.
I raised my stiff hand and tapped the last recording, desperate to hear her voice, to pretend she was still beside me.