Page 1 of Halo

Prologue

Leah

Three Years Ago

Rivulets of blood slope down my thighs as warmth pools beneath me. Darkness teases at my periphery, my vision blurring with flickers of light. I am cold. My dress hugs my clammy skin, my cheeks wet from hours of tears and terror.

I don't move—I can’t. The slightest movement instantly flares the pain, lancing through my core without warning, and stealing the breath from my lungs.

The physical agony is nothing compared to the wounds that have left my heart bruised, the ones hidden by good intentions and empty promises, the ones that are supposed to be kissed and loved away. Those wounds remain.

They always remain.

“Mrs. Harrison?”

I blink once. Twice. A young man in scrubs holds out a blue-hatched hospital gown. “I'm sorry …” I swallow down my misery and force a smile. “I didn't quite hear you.”

He reads me like a book, but reserves his judgment by offering a kind grin. “We need you to change. Do you need some help?”

I stare at the male nurse. Then at the garment. And for whatever reason, I can't make sense of what's happening or what he wants me to do.

“Here.” My husband takes the gown. “Give it to me.” He unfolds it, figuring out the ties and buttons. “Angel, let’s put this on.”

I despise that name.

To anyone listening, it sounds sweet and adoring, but it's his way of keeping me docile, his quiet lamb, the dutiful wife who submits and obeys.

I have no doubt he loves me; he tells me everyday, but I often wonder if he's telling me or if he's reminding himself.

There’s a knock at the door.

“Evening. I’m Dr. Ramsdale.”

My husband lights up, extending his arm to shake the ER physician’s hand. “Good to see you, Jon.”

“Mr. Harrison.” The doctor raises an eyebrow, sharing a curious look with me. “Is this your wife?”

“It is. We have a bit of a … situation.”

I grit through another smile, lifting my hand in a small wave.

The doctor uses his badge to sign into the computer, and with a few keystrokes, he's in my chart. After a brief pause of clicking and reading, he takes a seat on a rolling stool, becoming eye-level with me. “Okay, Mrs. Harrison, what brings you into the emergency room tonight?”

Time worbles, the room tilts on its axis as I focus on the words. Their meaning isn't connecting in my brain. It's like this entire scenario is nothing but a dream—well, more like a nightmare. How did we even get here? “I … I'm sorry. I, um—”

“Leah is bleeding,” my husband says. “A lot. With a lot of pain.”

Dr. Ramsdale studies my husband before offering a compassionate look to me. “Is that right, Mrs. Harrison? Are you in pain?”

The metallic odor of blood assaults my nose, causing my stomach to churn. My attention fixes to the rubber stopper for the door as I swallow thickly and manage a nod.

He hands me an emesis bag. “Are you menstruating right now?”

“She's pretty irregular. She's had—”

The doctor holds up a gentle finger, interrupting my husband. “Mrs. Harrison, are you on your period?”

I shake my head.