The morning sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the Camden estate, soft and golden, spilling warmth across the sitting room. Rachel sat in one of the armchairs opposite Mr. Camden, a small teacup in her hands, while the old man leaned back with a rare ease.
Just yesterday, the entire house had been in quiet panic, and Rachel had hovered anxiously by his bedside, afraid he might not even open his eyes.
But this morning, he was in unusually high spirits, as though determined to prove to her, and perhaps to himself, that he was far from done with life. His voice, though still rough from age, carried a note of humor Rachel hadn't expected to hear so soon.
"...and then," Henry said, his wrinkled eyes bright, "I told the doctor that if he made me swallow one more pill, I'd throw him out the window. The poor man nearly fainted himself."
Rachel gasped and then laughed, clapping a hand over her mouth. "You didn't say that."
