Read Online His Saving Grace by Sharon Cullen - Free Book Online Page A

been so naive, believing that her life was over if she could not become a mother. And she had been so selfish, wondering what she would do with her time, when Michael had been facing far more terrifying things.
    All of that was nothing compared to being told that her husband had been killed.
    Nothing compared to having your dead husband return only to tell you he did not want you.
    And that was definitely nothing compared to the paralyzing fear of sitting outside your husband’s door, convinced he was dying and not being allowed entrance.
    Michael is dying.
    She breathed deep, her eyes dry. Tears could not even begin to touch her rampant fear.
    It had been quiet on the other side of the door for a few hours. She pulled her legs closer so that she was sitting in a tight ball, holding herself together by sheer force of will.
    When the door creaked open, Grace simply stared at it, too numb to comprehend that Tarik was stepping out. He paused when he saw her sitting there. She had no feeling in her legs to rise; nor did she care. She looked up at this man Michael had brought home with him who knew more about her husband than she did.
    The question she wanted to ask refused to be voiced. It was far too terrifying.
    “He is resting,” Tarik said.
    She leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes. Her body felt heavy, cumbersome.
    He’s alive.
    Tarik surprised her by sliding down the wall and sitting next to her. He looked as exhausted as she felt.
    “Is he dying?” Somewhere she found the courage to voice her fear.
    For a long moment Tarik didn’t answer, and in those many beats of silence, Grace lived and died a thousand times.
    “No,” he finally said.
    No.
She let the fear seep out of her, but it wouldn’t fully release its grip.
    “Tell me what is wrong with him,” she whispered up at the ceiling she was staring at.
    “His story is not mine to tell.”
    She rubbed her eyes with the pads of her thumbs, too weary to argue with this man. “Give me your word that he is not dying.”
    “I give you my word. He is not dying.”
    “Does he suffer like this often?”
    Again he hesitated, seeming to weigh his words before he spoke. “Often enough.”
    “Is this the result of his war injury?”
    “I have said enough. It is up to him to tell you more.”
    “I want to help him, Tarik, but I don’t know how.”
    “You can’t help him unless he wants you to, and right now he doesn’t want you to.”
    “Why?”
    “It’s not—”
    “—your story to tell.”
    “Exactly.” He smiled, and for the first time he looked somewhat friendly. At least less frightening.
    “Will he ever tell me, do you think?”
    Tarik raised his knees and rested his elbows on them. “I think he would be a fool not to.”
    She had the feeling that Tarik was on her side. In this, at least. But she wasn’t going to trust that feeling just yet.
    “So what happens now? He rests?”
    “He will sleep for a few hours, and when he awakens, he will be hungry. It’s how this always works.”
    How many times had this happened? “Then I will tell Ida to make a large breakfast.” If she couldn’t do anything else, at least she could feed him.
    She stood on wobbly legs. The long hours of sitting on the floor had taken their toll. She hobbled back to her room on feet that felt like they were stuck with pins, but when she shut the door behind her, she simply stood there, looking at her bed and the rumpled bedclothes. She was so exhausted that any sort of thought escaped her. She couldn’t even command her body to move.
    Michael wasn’t dying.
    She swayed, whether from fatigue or relief, she couldn’t say.
    Not dying.
    She closed her eyes and let that thought settle within her. She hadn’t realized how much she’d feared that Tarik would walk out of the room and tell her that Michael was dead. Again.
    —
    Again Michael found himself standing at the door to the conservatory, watching his wife. Tarik had told him that she’d held an