“Dr. Ginger’s suggestion,” Deirdre replied flatly. She let the coat hang on her shoulders. “He said a shut-in lifestyle wouldn’t help my recovery either, so he told me to go outside and immerse myself in the elements for a bit.”

“I don’t think your sorry excuse of an outdoor getup was part of the suggestion, was it? How will you see Ophelia if you catch a cold?”

There was a plop as her gardening shears fell to the ground. Deirdre looked at Brendan in disbelief, her tool forgotten, her lifeless eyes quivering in their sockets. “What did you say?”

Her voice was trembling.

“I said...” Brendan repeated himself with emphatic enunciation. “Ophelia is ready to return. She’ll be with us in ten days.”

This meant more than the world to her. Her eyes reddened instantly, and she clawed at Brendan’s collar—despite already suppressing most of her violent excitement—and blabbered, “D-Don’t you dare do this to me, Brendan! Don’t! Don’t g-give me hope…”

Brendan fixed a strangely unyielding star