At the hospital...
Oliver was conscious and was transferred to the ward. He lay propped up in his bed, pale and weak. But a grin surfaced on his face when he saw Anne coming in with Augustine at her side.
Relief washed over him. She was safe and alive.
"Anne…" he called out, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand lifted shakily, reaching out.
She hurried to him, clasping his trembling hand. "Don't speak," she said softly, eyes already misting. "You need to rest. You are still too weak."
Oliver closed his eyes for a moment, struggling to keep his emotions in check. He had so many things to say, so many regrets to voice, but his throat tightened, his words trapped behind the lump swelling there. Still, he forced a smile.
"I'm just glad I was able to protect you," he rasped.
Anne's face crumpled. "You shouldn't have done that," she choked out. "You could have died. Do you know how I would have lived with that? I would have blamed myself forever."
