After waking up at the hospital last year, dreams of conversations I’d had in my coma were not the only thing that visited me at night. On the nights where I didn’t dream of Kain, nightmares ate away at my peace of mind constantly. Most of the time, it would be a vivid reliving of that awful night in July, when I felt my life slip through my fingers like sand.
I died that day.
Literally.
There was this chunk of time that went blank between the moment I heard the cracking of the gunshot and then waking up sixteen days later, gaunt, scarred, and childless. Clearly, I went to hell. And I relived that night in my nightmares at least once a week for the past sixteen months.
Book three is told in both Lauren and Kain's points of view.