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She went further down the path, indulging herself with delightful images of Cora, her belly full with their child. They hadn’t discussed it in detail, but she knew Cora wanted to be a mother.
Agnes had always liked the idea of children, but Jackie hadn’t wanted kids, so it was an idea that Agnes had given up on a long time ago. Perhaps she was too old to be a mother, but Cora was still young. Agnes found that she didn’t care if other people said she was too old. It was never too late.
They would get married, of course, before the children. Agnes would take Cora’s surname. Hope. Agnes Hope. It had a nice ring to it.
But before any of this, she had to persuade Cora to forgive her.
Agnes gulped at the thought. She had treated Cora horribly and Cora would be well within her rights to tell Agnes to go to hell. Saving her life should earn her some gratitude, but that didn’t mean Cora needed to take her up on the offer to continue their relationship.
Agnes would have to grovel—and grovel hard. She could live with that. A bit of humble pie had never killed anyone.
Cora was wheeled up into recovery, Agnes right by her side. She pulled up a chair and settled down next to Cora’s bed to wait. No one was foolish enough to suggest that she go back to the ER. Agnes had taken all the trauma she could handle for one day.
Now that the surgery was over, exhaustion hit her. The stress and tension all caught up with her at once, and Agnes was suddenly glad she was sitting down, sure that if had she been standing, she’d be swaying on her feet right now.
She wanted to stay awake until Cora was conscious again, but her head was drawn magnetically to the end of the bed. She placed her forehead near Cora’s elbow and was asleep in moments.
Agnes was woken several hours later, judging by the stiffness in her neck, by a pleasant sensation. Someone running their fingers through her hair.
There was only one person that could be.
Agnes sat up in a rush. “Cora!”
Cora looked pale and tired, but her eyes were bright as she looked at Agnes. “Hey.”
“How are you feeling? Any dizziness? Nausea? Trouble swallowing?”
“No, I’m okay. Doctor Jacobs already came in and ran through all the usual questions. We didn’t want to wake you.”
“You’re okay,” Agnes breathed, taking in the steady rise and fall of Cora’s chest, listening to her perfect enunciation and watching her sharp eyes as they held her gaze.
“Thanks to you. They told me what you did. I’m sorry you had to be in charge of that, Agnes.”
“I’m not. You’re alive and well—now it’ll just be a matter of some rest and recovery. None of the rest matters.”
Cora nodded, reaching for Agnes’ hand, but Agnes resisted the temptation to take it.
“What are you doing?”
Agnes ignored Cora’s question as she pushed her chair back and went to her knees on the floor. Time to grovel.
“Cora, I owe you an apology. No, I owe you much more than that, but an apology is the only way I can think to start. I promised I’d never hurt you again, and I did just that. My own issues are no excuse for the way I treated you. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’m going to beg for it anyway.
“All I can say is that I see now what a fool I’ve been. I let my fear ruin what should have been something bright and beautiful. I don’t know if it’s too late, and I’d understand if it is, but I have to ask anyway.
“Cora, I love you, and I’m begging you to forgive me. To take me back. I can’t promise it’s going to be easy, but I swear I’ll never stop trying to make you as happy as you make me. Please, will you take me back?”
There were a few seconds of dead silence. Agnes couldn’t read Cora’s expression.
“Get up, please, Agnes,” Cora said quietly.
Agnes’ heart sank as she stood then quickly sat down on the chair, worried her legs were going to collapse under her.
Cora reached over and took her hand. “I appreciate your apology.”
Agnes sensed a “but” coming. Despair was already swamping her. Cora wasn’t going to forgive her—or at least, if she was, it would be only to continue a friendship between them.
“I appreciate it, but it’s not necessary. I haven’t been faultless in this either, you know. I knew you were in so much pain and lost in grief when we started this, and I wasn’t particularly understanding when you—predictably—freaked out. We’d agreed to take things slowly, and I completely jumped the gun. I’m not saying I appreciated your reaction, but I am saying that I also could have behaved better.”
