The Flower That Grew from Ashes novel Chapter 7

After Hackett left, Annelise lay in that hospital bed for six agonizing hours. From the dead of night until the first pale gray light of dawn bled through the window.

The anesthesia had completely worn off, and the incision on her lower abdomen throbbed in relentless waves, feeling as though thousands of tiny needles were churning inside her.

Yet she kept her eyes firmly shut, maintaining the steady, rhythmic breathing of someone still lost in a deep sleep.

Her body was motionless, but her mind was running like a high-speed machine in the dark, frantically untangling the horrifying influx of information from the past twenty-four hours—information that had utterly obliterated the last four years of her life.

The tubal ligation.

The murder.

Clarissa Sherwood.

Manuel.

And Hackett's final, freezing "I'm sorry."

She needed time to digest all of this, and more importantly, time to figure out her next move.

At six-thirty in the morning, the door handle turned softly. A familiar, gentle set of footsteps approached.

It was Harriet.

Annelise's tightly strung nerves relaxed for a fraction of a second.

Harriet was the Sargent family's oldest housekeeper; she had been there since Annelise could remember. When her parents died in a tragic accident and the once-great Sargent Group was fractured, Harriet was the only one who had stayed, following Annelise as she married into the Lehman family.

In this cold, calculating Lehman household, Harriet was the only person who genuinely cared for her, the only one who would shed a real tear for her pain.

"Sigh..."

A soft, heartbroken sigh drifted from the edge of the bed.

Annelise could smell the faint, comforting scent of the kitchen on Harriet's clothes, mingling with the warm aroma of the soup she had brought.

Seeing that Annelise was "still asleep," Harriet slowed her movements. She set the bowl on the nightstand, leaned over, and gently wiped Annelise's cheeks and palms with a warm towel.

Her touch was painfully slow and delicate, as though she were tending to a fragile piece of porcelain.

Looking at Annelise's pale face, she mumbled to herself, her voice thick with unshed tears.

"Why does my poor girl have to suffer so much?"

"You finally get the baby you prayed for, and then... it's just gone."

Beneath her closed eyelids, Annelise's eyes twitched slightly.

Assuming it was just an unconscious reaction to the surgery, Harriet reached over and carefully tucked the blankets in around her. Those rough but warm hands gently patted Annelise's shoulder, just like she used to do to coax her to sleep when she was a little girl.

Right then, the phone in Harriet's apron pocket began to buzz.

Annelise's nerves instantly pulled taut. She heard Harriet step into the corner of the room, lowering her voice as she answered. "Madam."

So it was Lizzie.

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