“He”—her voice softened—“got out before the fire spread. He saw me. I was crying. He picked me up and carried me farther away from the road. Then he said, ‘Stay down.’ And he ran back.”
Back for their daughter.
Margaret pressed her hand over her mouth to stifle a sob.
“But the gray SUV came back,” Lily said, gripping the ragged doll she held against her chest. “The driver got out. He looked at the wreck. He looked around. Then he left again.”
“Did you see him?” Margaret asked.
Lily hesitated.
“Not clearly. But I saw him when he stood under the headlights. He was on his phone. And he was wearing a watch. The face glowed blue in the dark.”
A watch.
The memory hit Margaret like lightning.
Christopher Reed—her brother-in-law—never went anywhere without his signature watch. A rare designer piece with a luminous blue dial. He loved flashing it at board meetings, at family dinners, at charity galas.
The monitor beeped again—another slight change.
Margaret leaned over her husband, Daniel Collins.
“Can you hear me?” she whispered. “If this is true… if it was him… give me something. Please.”
The rhythm quickened. Not wildly. Not miraculously.
But unmistakably.
It wasn’t coincidence.
It was response.