CHAPTER THIRTEEN
JASMINE HADN’T EXPECTED to find her companions as hostile as she’d been to them. She thought her anger was justified. She blamed the Cehn-Tahr for her father’s death, for her sad state afterward. But apparently, they blamed her for something more than just distaste for their religious objects. She had no idea what they thought she’d done. Had someone been spreading malicious gossip about her?
The obvious person to blame would have been Mekashe, but he’d hardly been a gossiping sort of person when she knew him. The Rojoks had acquaintances among the Cehn-Tahr, so perhaps they’d relayed her contempt for them at some point, and that had caused them to have hard feelings toward her.
On the other hand, she’d never felt more like an invading disease. She did keep to her quarters, because it was so uncomfortable to even walk out into the corridor. There were glares and murmured conversations that stopped when she was within earshot.
Dr. Hahnson was particularly cool to her. She didn’t see him often, but he did lab work for Tellas when the Morcai’s Cularian expert was overwhelmed. He brought back some lab results. He and Tellas got along well. They were friendly. But when Hahnson glanced at Jasmine, the smile faded at once.
“Sir, have you heard when our transport is going to get here?” she asked Hahnson.
“No, I have not. The commander will notify you when it arrives.”
“I haven’t killed anyone,” she said haughtily.
He turned and looked at her. “Your contempt for us is quite well-known,” he said. “Especially your opinion of the Cehn-Tahr. What a shame that you weren’t with us at Ahkmau, when human and Cehn-Tahr marched off together to the ovens to spare our commander’s life. They are a noble, kind people. They’re our family.”
“I made an unwise comment about cat statues and I insulted a minor alien race,” she said, exasperated. “What does that have to do with anything that happened to my father?”
He gaped at her. “You think your father’s position was terminated, that the Terravegan government was humiliated, because of that? You think the emperor would be so petty?”
She was losing ground. She didn’t know how to respond, what to say. She’d spent the past five years holding a grudge over her father’s treatment, supposing it to result from a minor remark she’d made. Now she wasn’t so sure.
“You really are clueless, Doctor,” he said. He turned and left the cubicle.
* * *
SHE WAS CHANGING a smartbandage on her patient when she heard voices in the next cubicle.
She finished, cleaned her hands and walked to the door. Mekashe was bending over a small boy who’d suffered second-degree burns. On a Jebob child, they were harder to treat, because of the megaradiation and its effect on his complicated genetic structure.
Mekashe’s voice was soft, deep, quiet. There was a smile in it as he spoke to the little boy, obviously in the child’s own tongue.
The little boy laughed, his purple eyes radiant. He reached up a hand and touched Mekashe’s face and said something.
Mekashe laughed and replied.
“Now go to sleep,” Tellas told the child. He put a laserdot into the boy’s neck with a smile and watched him drop off.
“Sorry, sir, you’re overstaying your welcome,” Tellas chided.
Mekashe laughed softly. “As I often do. Uskus is a sweet child. I grieve for him. To lose both parents at such an age is a sorrow.”
“You lost yours when you were not so much older than Uskus,” Tellas said quietly.
“Yes, but I had Clan. He has none. I have Jennings searching for any distant relative who might be willing to take him. There are rumors of an uncle...” He turned abruptly and saw Jasmine standing there. “Yes, Doctor?” he asked coldly.
“I was...” She swallowed. “I wondered if you’d heard anything more about our transport. Sir.”
“If I had, you would have been informed, madam,” he returned. He turned back to Tellas. “Keep me informed. If he needs any special medicines, I can obtain them through central supply.”
“I will. Thank you.”
Mekashe left without a backward glance. Jasmine glanced at the sleeping child and turned away. She’d wanted children so desperately. It seemed like a lifetime ago, now. She went back to her patient.
* * *
THREE DAYS LATER, the commander sent for her again.
“Your transport is four solar days’ distance,” he told her. “Barring problems, you will be reunited with your command shortly.”
“I thank you for your hospitality, sir,” she said icily. “I feel so welcome here.”
“I think Hahnson would have offered you quarters in the brig, had I permitted it,” he shot back. “His bonded mate was Cehn-Tahr. He has as much reason to resent you as I do.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked, exasperated. “For heaven’s sake, I was insulting about the cat statues, yes, I admit it. I made a facetious remark about a four-legged race...!”
“And you think that prompted your father’s problems?” he asked, almost a purr in his tone.
“Your emperor killed my father!” she snapped. “He killed him, as surely as if he’d...!”
She broke off and jumped back as Mekashe, his temper mastering him, suddenly shifted into his true form.
Jasmine gaped at him, horrified. The creature she’d seen in the gym of the starliner, it hadn’t been a creature at all. It had been a Cehn-Tahr! And she’d never known! Her father must have known, but he didn’t tell her!
Mekashe bared his fangs. He moved toward her stealthily, huge and menacing, his black mane flowing down his back. “We were creatures, you said. Monsters. We should have been caged, kept away from civilized beings. We should have been put down, like the animals we were!”
She backed up another step. Mekashe had loved her. She’d called his race monsters. She realized all at once just what she’d done to provoke the emperor. Such an insult was more than any head of government could have tolerated.
“Don’t you want to scream?” he purred icily.
She couldn’t even manage words. The horror she felt was reflected in her face, but it wasn’t the horror he thought he understood. It wasn’t fear of him that caused it. It was anguish over what she’d done. She’d killed her father. She’d spent years blaming the emperor, blaming the Cehn-Tahr, insulting them at every turn. And it had been her fault, not theirs at all.
“My father,” she choked out. “He knew!”
He managed to control his anger and shifted back into the humanoid form she’d first seen when they met. “Yes,” he said coldly. “He knew. But he was bound by secrecy not to reveal it to you. We do not share such things with outworlders.”
He turned away from her. “The offense was worse because you were overheard by others in the gym, one of them a Rojok. Such an insult could not be ignored.”
She stared at him with anguish in her face. Only now did she begin to see what an impossibly spoiled brat she’d been, so selfish and thoughtless that she had no feeling at all for other people. And she’d thought her offense was minor. That she’d done nothing wrong.
She closed her eyes and shivered. She’d destroyed lives.
An intercom sounded. “Yes?” Mekashe asked harshly.
There was a spate of Cehn-Tahr, which he answered. He glanced at Jasmine.
“You have a patient to attend, madam,” he said shortly. “I will contact your transport personally and see if I can expedite your recovery. Dismissed.”
She swallowed, hard. “Yes, sir.”
She was too sick even to salute him. She turned and walked back to her cubicle like a sleepwalker. When she got inside, she threw herself onto her bunk and wept as if her heart would break.
* * *
HAHNSON BRAVED MEKASHE’S temper two days later.
“Something to report?” Mekashe asked.
Hahnson grimaced. “It’s Dr. Dupont,” he said reluctantly. “She hasn’t been out of her cubicle in two days. She checks on her patient and goes right back inside. She hasn’t eaten or slept or interacted with any of us.”
Mekashe drew in a breath. “I lost my temper and shifted in front of her,” he said harshly. “I suppose she is still getting over the shock of being aboard a ship full of monsters.”
His tone was bitter. Hahnson sighed. “I don’t think it’s that. The one time I did get a glimpse of her... Well, I think she’s been crying. A lot.”
That was news. Mekashe was surprised. The human doctor had been quite vocal about putting blame on everyone except herself for her father’s banishment. It must have come as a surprise to learn what her true offense had been.
It had caused him no end of anguish to see her reaction to his comrade’s Cehn-Tahr form. He’d had such hopes. But then, they would have come to nothing, in any case. Cehn-Tahr with modified genetics, as his were, could never mate with humans. It was hopeless, as his feelings for her had been hopeless. Whatever those feelings were even now, he didn’t dare entertain them.
Still, her anguish disturbed him enough to have Hahnson send her to his office.
* * *
THE SOFT BUZZ at her cabin door brought her temporarily out of her misery. She dabbed at her red eyes and opened it, keeping her eyes down. “Yes?” she asked in a subdued tone.
“The commander would like to see you,” Hahnson said. He wasn’t antagonistic, for the first time since she’d boarded the Morcai.
“Very well,” she said in a tone without inflection.
She jogged down the corridor in a daze, unaware of the faintly concerned looks she was getting from the humans. Some of them felt guilty for their treatment of her. Gossip ran wild aboard a ship in space, there being little else except routine to occupy the crew. Jasmine’s self-imposed isolation had disturbed them. Apparently, she wasn’t as bad as they’d first thought. Despite her preference for Rojoks.
She touched a panel on the commander’s door and was allowed inside.
“You sent for me, sir?” she asked formally and without meeting his eyes. If she had, she’d have seen deep blue concern in them, not the brown anger of recent days.
“You have isolated yourself.”
She didn’t reply.
He moved around the desk. He saw her tense and leaned back against his desk, his eyes narrow on what he could see of her lowered face.
“Among my people, there is a word that reflects our belief in the order of things in the universe,” he said. “Karamesh. In your tongue, it translates as ‘fate.’ We believe that our lives are written before our birth. If this is the case, and there is hardly any room in the military for philosophy, then your father’s end was preordained. Nothing you did would have changed what happened to him. Although I must tell you that I deeply regret the manner of his passing. He was a good man.”
“He was, and a better father than I deserved.” She laughed hollowly, her face still lowered. “For five years, I blamed you, blamed the emperor, blamed the Cehn-Tahr people. And all along, I was responsible for everything that happened to my father. I don’t know...how to live with it,” she said gruffly, fighting more tears.
He folded his arms across his broad chest. “Since I was an adolescent, the military has been my life,” he began quietly. “Over two hundred years before you were born, I was ordering good soldiers to their deaths in pursuit of military objectives. That responsibility sits heavily on my conscience. But I live with it, because I must. You will have to learn to live with your burden.”
She looked up then, shocked. “Two...hundred years...” she faltered, because he still looked no older than a human in his early thirties.
“Because you have a medic’s credentials, I can tell you this,” he continued. “Many Clans accepted advanced genetic modification in the early days of the empire. The emperor’s clan, Alamantimichar, was the recipient of the most advanced. The genetic tampering resulted in the mutated form you saw in the gym aboard the starliner. We are no longer completely humanoid. It is our shame that we became ‘monsters,’” he added, watching her eyelids flinch as she registered her own harsh words, “because of the modifications. We share traits with the great galot race of Eridanus Three. We revere Cashto, the first of the great cats that we drew our genetics from—the statues you saw at my villa in the holoroom were of him. They are religious objects, although we exact no punishment for other races’ opinions of them.”
She was still trying to process his age. Over two hundred years.
“Our emperor is over four hundred years old,” he said, reading the thought in her mind. “Experts think he may share the life span of the great cats, which runs to many centuries.”
“Will you live so long?” she asked huskily.
He shrugged. “I share his bloodline, so it is possible.”
His bloodline. Alamantimichar. The Royal Clan. She closed her eyes and shivered. “They said that two members of that Clan were aboard the starliner and I never realized that one of them was you.” She looked up, anguished. “The things I said...!”
He turned away and went behind the desk, as if to distance himself from her pain. “I had hopes, at the time, that were ungrounded in reality,” he said after a minute. “Genetically modified Cehn-Tahr cannot mate with humans. It would be instantly fatal.”
She recalled hearing that gossip from the Rojoks with whom she served.
“Yes,” he said, reading the thought. “The Rojoks have been allies and enemies for millennia. They know more about us than most other races.”
It suddenly dawned on her that he’d read her mind. She was stunned.
“I read what lies on the surface only,” he corrected. “We are not permitted to look deeply into the thoughts of others. We consider it bad manners.”
She had known so little about him, for all her imaginings. They’d spoken of a life together, of children. Impossible dreams.
“But your emperor’s son is bonded to a human,” she said.
“That is true. But a classified experiment permitted that bonding, and the birth of two children. The sample was consumed in the experiment. It has never been replicated.”
“The former commander of the Holconcom...”
“Yes. Rhemun. My best friend. He bonded with the former Cularian specialist aboard the Morcai, Dr. Edris Mallory. But Rhemun’s father went to war with the empire to prevent genetic modification of his child. Rhemun has only classified tech as the basis of his great strength. Mine is genetic.”
She still couldn’t grasp it. “But you were able to touch me.”
“Hahnson used nanobytes and dravelzium to permit that,” he said heavily. “It was permissible only because there was no giving or acceptance of a gift, the precursor to courtship.” His face hardened. “Once the mating cycle begins, a Cehn-Tahr will kill any male who comes near the object of his pursuit. There is a saying that nothing in the three galaxies is as dangerous as a Cehn-Tahr male who is hunting.”
She drew in a long breath. “I see.”
“The differences between us would have made anything other than friendship impossible,” he said with faint bitterness. “So it was just as well that you hated us. Perhaps it made your path a little easier, after the loss of your father.”
She bit her lower lip. She couldn’t quite contain the grief. I mourned you, she thought miserably.
“As I mourned you,” he replied roughly.
She looked up into the solemn blue of his eyes and fought tears.
He averted his gaze to the computer bank on his desk. “Your patient is mending well. By the time your transport arrives, he will be conscious.”
“Yes.”
“I wish you well, Dr. Dupont,” he said after a minute.
“I wish you...the same.”
“Dismissed.”
“Yes, sir.” She saluted him and turned away. It hurt too much to look at him.
* * *
TWO SOLAR DAYS LATER, she had her patient awake and aware as he was transported over to the waiting Rojok vessel.
Jasmine hated the very thought of leaving the Morcai. Of course, there was no hope of a future with Mekashe. She knew that. But it didn’t stop her from aching just for a sight of him, just to hear his deep voice in sick bay as he spoke to the orphaned alien child there. For the rest of her life, she would never see him again. It tormented her.
She realized that the physical differences would make bonding with him impossible. There could never be a child. Even if she were allowed to serve with him, it would be daily anguish, because of unfulfilled hopes, dead dreams. That didn’t stop her from wishing that she didn’t have to leave.
She had to get herself together. This would serve no purpose. She had a patient whose welfare she was responsible for. She had duties of her own, aboard the Rojok flagship. She had to leave. There was no other way.
She heard, or thought she heard, a strange voice in her head, assuring her that everything would be all right. Now she was hearing things. She opened her kit and looked at the small ball that contained her virtual Nagaashe, the physical memory of a happy time in her life. Not that the little creature could have spoken to her. She kept it close, treasured it, never took it out of her kit because she was so afraid of losing it. She could get another, but it wouldn’t have the memories attached to this one. It was precious because she was with Mekashe when she’d bought it. Mekashe, who would pass out of her life now like a bright shadow, barely seen, barely touched. She fought tears once again. All she did lately was cry. She had to get herself together. This was no way to behave. She was an officer and a physician. She had to consider her duty. That was all she had left.
* * *
HAHNSON TAPPED AT her cubicle.
She opened it, her tragic face causing him to grimace.
“The Rojok transport just docked with us,” he said, and not unkindly. “Tellas will float your patient down to the airlock for you, while you get your things together.”
“Thanks,” she replied, starting to turn away.
“I know how it feels,” he blurted out.
She turned back, her eyebrows lifted in a question.
“I bonded with an outcast female Cehn-Tahr, at the end of the Great Galaxy War,” he said quietly. “She was my...whole life. Our one attempt at mating almost cost me my life. While I was recovering, she took her life. The knowledge that we couldn’t have any sort of a relationship was too much for her.” His teeth ground together. “I never got over her.”
She studied his broad, hard face. “You’re a clone,” she began.
“Yes.” He managed a smile. “But the cloning technique the Cehn-Tahr use employs advanced tech that can even re-create memories. I am everything that my original was. In a detailed scan, physical and psychological, you couldn’t find a speck of difference between the man I was and the clone I am.”
“The Rojoks can do the same,” she said. “I’ve seen it used, in rare cases where important people were reconstructed.”
“They’re still debating whether the soul goes with the transference. For my part, I’d guess that it does. I have the same feelings for Holt Stern and Madeline Ruszel that my original had. We were a team for ten years before we ended up in the Holconcom. We’re still close, although Maddie lives the life of a royal now.”
She drew in a long breath. “I’m sorry for your pain.”
“I’m sorry for yours,” he replied. “None of us was kind to you, when you came aboard. I apologize for that.”
“Don’t,” she replied. She smiled. “I was a total idiot. I spent years blaming everybody but myself for what happened. It’s been hard, realizing that the real culprit was me.” She sighed. “I would have walked through fire for Mekashe,” she added huskily. “I had no idea, until one of the Rojoks told me, that humans and genetically enhanced Cehn-Tahr are incompatible. I had such dreams...” She stopped, laughing hollowly.
“So did I,” he confessed. “I guess we take what we can get in life, and live on memories.”
“Mine are sweet,” she confessed.
He smiled. “So are mine. Farewell, Doctor. Maybe we’ll meet again one day.”
“Unlikely. But I’m glad we part in a happier way than we began.”
“Me, too.”
* * *
JASMINE’S PATIENT WAS graved through the airlock into the Rojok ship. Jasmine hesitated a little, hoping for one last glance at Mekashe. But he was nowhere in sight as she jogged down the wide corridor with her kit, on her way to follow her patient aboard the Rojok vessel.
She was almost to the airlock when the ship was suddenly jarred as if giant fists had slammed into it. The artificial gravity warped and she hit the overhead with a thud. Simultaneously she heard Mekashe’s deep voice over the intership comm giving orders.
On the viewscreen along the corridor, she watched as the Rojok ship suddenly sped away. The Morcai dashed in a different direction so quickly that the stars became a white blur with the speed.
Artificial gravity reasserted itself and Jasmine hit the deck with a thump.
“What happened?” she asked a passing crewman.
“Unknown,” he said, still rushing. “They’re running diagnostics. We were in a disputed area, near the Terramer system to rendezvous with the Rojok ship. It might have been an attack.”
He ran ahead. She went back to sick bay. Hahnson was on the comms, asking questions and apparently getting no answers.
“Nobody knows what’s going on,” he told her. “Sorry about your ride, but the Rojok ship cleared off and so did we. Until we know what happened, it would have been dangerous to stick around. They’ll arrange another rendezvous.”
“Of course.” She leaned against the bulkhead to get her breath. “Gravity is a painful thing,” she murmured with a hand to her bruised back.
He chuckled. “You should serve aboard one of the old Terravegan fleet ships, the ones we had before they gave us the Bellatrix that Stern commanded. Gravity was iffy at best, especially during any confrontations with the enemy.”
“I guess I’ve missed some adventures.”
“Believe me, you have no idea,” he said with a grin.
Tellas came into the cubicle. “We have some minor injuries, nothing major. They’re saying it was a gravity wave,” he added in a disbelieving tone. “But there was nothing on the scanners.”
“Sometimes they don’t show up,” Hahnson said. “And, forgive me,” he said to Jasmine, “but our friends the Rojoks have been known to use jamming tech when we’re at close quarters. Both governments are still very closemouthed about their equipment. Despite the better relations, we don’t share well.”
“All too true,” Tellas said. He glanced at Jasmine. “Doctor, if you have the time, my assistant is down with Altairian flu and I’m a bit short staffed.”
“No problem,” she said easily. “I might as well work for my supper.”
Tellas frowned. “Excuse me?”
“Colloquial terminology,” she said. “I might as well be useful.”
“Ah. I see. Then if you’ll follow me?”
She jogged along behind him to the Cularian sector.
* * *
MEKASHE ANNOUNCED, IN STANDARD, that they were moving to Memcache for spacedock repairs. Apparently, a major piece of equipment had been damaged.
Jasmine was sad about that. Her last memory of the home planet of the Cehn-Tahr was an unhappy one. But then, she’d hardly be expected to go down to the surface. Surely, the Rojok fleet would send a ship for her soon.
* * *
IT DIDN’T WORK out quite that way. They ported at Memcache and the ship had an unexpected visit from a very unexpected person. The emperor himself came aboard with Rhemun at the head of his Imperial bodyguard.
The corridor was lined with humans and Cehn-Tahr, all standing at rigid attention. Even though Jasmine wasn’t attached to the ship, or its command structure, she stood at attention, as well. Her one memory of the Cehn-Tahr emperor had been from a distance. But as he approached, she saw that he was very tall, as tall as Mekashe, with a thick head of white hair and a chest full of medals. He wore a Cehn-Tahr military uniform, but it was obvious that he was far and away more than a soldier.
“Sir,” Mekashe said formally, bowing. “We are honored by your presence.”
The others bowed, as well.
The emperor nodded. “I have not been aboard the Morcai in some time. Not since we rushed to Ruszel’s rescue on Akaashe,” he said with a smile in his voice. “We miss you in the kehmatemer,” he added to Mekashe.
“Not much,” Rhemun murmured drily.
The emperor chuckled. “You only say that because your mate is happy to have you on Memcache rather than in constant danger in the Holconcom.”
“That is true,” Rhemun mused, still standing at rigid attention.
The emperor turned unexpectedly and looked straight at Jasmine, who cringed inwardly as she recalled her terrible behavior and its tragic consequences in the past.
But he didn’t seem angry. He approached her, his head cocked as he studied her curiously. “Dr. Dupont,” he said gently. “My mate is a seer. She has the gift of prophecy. She has requested your presence on Memcache, if you are willing.”
“The empress? Sir, I...” She swallowed, still standing at attention. “It would be an honor, sir.”
“Mekashe can bring you down,” he said, turning his attention to the Morcai’s commander, who looked vaguely surprised.
“Yes, sir,” Mekashe said, as it was obviously an order.
“Good. We will expect you this evening, as we reckon time here.”
“My transport,” she began.
The emperor waved a hand. “Chacon can send another to Memcache. It is no great issue. Your temporary replacement is caring for your patient aboard the Rojok flagship. He reports that his recovery is well under way.”
“Thank you, sir.”
She was stunned. It seemed that the emperor had already spoken to both Chacon and the commander of the Rojok flagship, in advance of this meeting. But she didn’t say a word. She still stood at rigid attention, like the rest of the crew.
“Stern, you and Hahnson come with him,” the emperor added, speaking to the officer with the wavy black hair whom Jasmine had only seen once or twice: Captain Stern.
“Yes, sir,” Stern said. His black eyes twinkled. “Time to think up a few more good lies about our battle prowess to impress you with.”
Hahnson laughed. So did the emperor, whose eyes were a howling green. He turned back to Jasmine.
“We will expect you, then,” he told her. He turned away, returning the salutes as Mekashe walked him and the kehmatemer to the vator tube.
“Do we wear uniforms, or what?” Jasmine asked Hahnson, concerned.
“Yes. But it’s informal,” he replied.
“The emperor isn’t what you think, Doctor,” Stern seconded. “He’s very down-to-earth. He started out as a farm worker. He was a soldier for decades, before he formed the Holconcom and led it on missions of conquest. He hasn’t lost that touch. We revere him, of course. But he’s pretty good at being just one of the guys.” He chuckled.
“Thanks,” she said. She grimaced. “I’ve been a real pain. Sorry about that.”
“We’ve all had experiences that hardened us,” Stern replied quietly. “That’s life. We learn from them.”
“Enough said,” Hahnson agreed. “I’d better get to my sector and finish up the waiting room.”
“I’m helping Tellas,” Jasmine said. “I guess I’d better go, too.”
“See you later,” Stern told them both and jogged away.
“The emperor isn’t anything like I thought he was,” Jasmine told Hahnson as they ran down the corridor to the medical sector.
“He’s surprisingly human,” Hahnson replied with a grin. “I guess it comes from being around Maddie Ruszel so much. You’ll meet her, and Dtimun, as well. They have two sons.”
“Their children must be unique,” she said.
“They are. Rhemun and Dr. Mallory have two children as well, except that one of theirs is female. Princess Lyceria was the first girl child born into the Royal Clan in centuries. Rhemun’s was only the second. Girls are rare.”
“I’ve met the princess. She fascinates me.”
“She would have been there, too. But she’s nearly ready to deliver, and Chacon won’t risk moving her away from Enmehkmehk.” He chuckled. “They say he’s pacing around like a madman, worried to death, just as he was before the birth of their son.” He shook his head. “How the mighty fall.”
She smiled. “It sounds kind of nice. He seems to love her very much.”
“And that’s a story you’ll hear, too,” he said. “He risked his life and his career to save her life when she was taken to Ahkmau. In fact, in a way, the Morcai Battalion owes its existence to him.”
“I’d love to hear that story.”
“You’ll hear that one, and more, tonight.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” She sighed. “I’m just glad that the emperor doesn’t hold grudges.”
“He’s tolerant, when he wants to be. Still fearsome, at times, when dealing with insurgents.”
“That’s what emperors are supposed to be, right?”
He nodded. “I think so.”
They arrived at the medical sector. Jasmine smiled at Hahnson and went to the Cularian cubicles to help Tellas with the backlog. She felt happier than she had in years.
The only thing that saddened her was knowing that she and Mekashe could never have a life together. Probably he’d adjusted to the reality, because he’d known for years. But she’d only just learned many things, including the impossibility of any relationship with him. Secretly, all those years, she’d never stopped loving him. She’d hated him for what she thought was his betrayal, but the love persisted.
Now she had a barren future ahead. But at least she had a purposeful job, one that defined her existence. It was cold comfort. But she did have that.