CHAPTER TWELVE
Henrik
Journal Entry
I sat in Bryony's hospital room, alone. It was late—past midnight—and the nurses had finally stopped checking on her every few minutes.
I should have gone home. Should have tried to sleep.
But I couldn't leave her.
I looked around the room, at the small bag of her belongings the hospital had given me. Her purse, her phone, her jacket.
And a small leather journal that had been in her purse.
I picked it up, turning it over in my hands. It was worn, the edges frayed, like she'd carried it everywhere.
I shouldn't read it. I knew that. It was private, personal.
But I needed to understand. I needed to know what she'd been thinking, what she'd been feeling.
I needed to know the woman I'd married and then betrayed.
I opened the journal to the first page.