“I can provide for us,” Morgan said, fighting to keep her voice calm. Her father’s eyes widened at Morgan’s brash declaration.
“I know you can,” he said. “You’ve never been scared of a challenge. But you need to be realistic, sweetheart. No one will hire you if John is standing by your side, especially not in anything related to the law or the Council. They won’t trust your judgment.”
“Then I won’t be on the Council,” she said defiantly. “I’ll figure something else out.”
“What about kids? I’m assuming you want a family someday. Are you going to figure something else out for that too?”
Morgan had been avoiding this question since John’s arrest, unwilling to ask it herself. Even if it wasn’t part of her immediate plan, she had always pictured herself as a mother someday. But that would never happen now. Not with John.
The grief began to rise in her throat again, but she quickly pushed it back down as she did so often these days.
“There is another option, Morgan,” her father said. “Let him go and move on.”
Morgan’s gaze snapped back to her father as if a shock had just passed through her body. It wasn’t the words alone that surprised her, but how dismissively he said them.
Morgan was speechless at first, clamoring for the right words. “I made a promise to him.”
Loughlin quietly scoffed; no doubt surprised by how deep her attachment was. “Well, the circumstances have changed. I doubt John would blame you for walking away.”
Morgan looked down at her hands, at the thin silver band she had purposefully moved to her right ring finger after John was arrested. Although only a little over a week had passed since John had given it to her, it felt like a different lifetime. Perhaps her father could be trusted with the truth, that John and she were husband and wife. Perhaps finally saying it out loud would make things easier, somehow better. She doubted it though.
“It’s not like you don’t have plenty of options,” her father continued. “A young man approached me just yesterday inquiring after you.”
“Well, that’s sweet,” Morgan said flatly. “Just what every girl wants, to be auctioned off like some farm animal.”
“I’m just trying to help you, Morgan,” her father said, holding her shoulders. “At least consider it. You have options other than John Hunter. You don’t have to throw your entire life away over a childhood crush.”
“I love him, Dad,” she finally uttered, realizing even as she said it how foolish and naive she must sound to him.
“It’s going to be all right, Morgan,” her father said sympathetically, pulling her into an embrace. “And you know how much I respected John. That boy was almost like a son to me, but I’m afraid the only way any of us are going to get through this, and still have some kind of a future, is without him.”
“You’re talking about John as if he’s dead.” Her voice was shaking now.
He sighed. “He might as well be.”
Morgan couldn’t hold it in any longer. She let out a sob. Her father hugged her tighter, pulling her head against his shoulder as she cried.
“It’s all right, Morgan. It’s all right to mourn John. To mourn the future you would have had together. But then you have to move on.”
Morgan’s mind was racing, and she felt far away as the weight of her father’s words hung over her. Everything felt so unnecessarily complicated now.
“You know, there are few things in life that fill a parent with more pride than seeing his children grow into respectable adults, and you have grown into a beautiful, ambitious woman, Morgan. I am so proud of you, and I know your mother would be too. It amazes me how much like her you are. Your eyes, your mannerisms. You even have her heart. She could see the best in everyone around her too.” He leaned down and kissed Morgan on the forehead. “I know it’s not easy, but you’re doing the right thing.”
It didn’t feel right to Morgan, though. Everything about it felt hopelessly unbearable, as though she couldn’t breathe, slowly suffocating in her father’s embrace.
Morgan pulled herself free from his grip and headed towards the door.
“Where are you going?” he called after her.
“On a walk,” she said, slamming the front door behind her.
Morgan stepped back into the cold night air, struggling to stay calm as she forced herself to walk back across the lawn, in case her father was watching her from the window. As she reached the edge of the property, however, she could not hold it in anymore and began to run as fast as she possibly could, Northridge passing by in a tear-streaked blur. She made it across the bridge before she had to stop, grabbing at her side as she struggled to catch her breath.
The streets of Southend were mostly empty this time of night. Everyone was either already home or heading there now, leaving just a handful of stragglers out on the street. People with nowhere else to go.
Morgan walked down the main road and past the empty shops, her path lit by flaming torches on either side of the street. The city looked different at night, in the harsh shadows of the lamplight.
She turned off the main road into a back alleyway, not caring where it led. Away from the streetlights, Morgan was barely able to see the path in front of her but continued until the tall buildings of Southend began to fade into half-formed piles of rubble, the heart of Haven falling further and further behind her as she reached the outskirts.
Morgan soon realized she wasn’t alone. Looking around, it seemed she had stumbled on some sort of camp. Old blankets and wooden planks were strewn across the ruins, the makeshift shelters of the dirty, emaciated faces that now leered curiously at her while muttering amongst themselves.
“Please, miss,” said a raspy voice in her ear. “Help a poor, hungry, old unfit.”
Morgan jumped and whirled around towards the voice. An aged man stood behind her; a dirty, thread-bare rag wrapped around his shoulders. One hand tightly gripped an old walking stick, while the other reached out beseechingly towards her.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered, backing away. “I don’t have anything.”
“Please,” he asked again, slowly limping towards her.
“I’m so sorry,” she apologized again, “I can’t help you.”
Morgan ran back the way she’d come, the old man’s cries following her along the back alleyways. Morgan tried to retrace her steps, hoping to see something familiar, but each turn only seemed to take her somewhere she did not want to go and the long walk home seemed more and more unbearable with each step. Morgan stopped dead in her tracks and sank to her knees, screaming as loud as she could, not caring who heard, until her tears choked out her voice.
Breathless, Morgan lifted her head and wiped the tears from her face. She could faintly make out what she hoped was one of the streetlamps of the main road, flickering in the distance. She headed towards it, winding her way through the back roads until the surrounding buildings finally began to look all too familiar.
She had wandered onto John’s street and, as if drawn in by some unseen force, was standing outside of his apartment once again, looking up at the building that had once felt more like home to her than any other place in the world. Maybe it was because she had nowhere else to go, or maybe she was just desperate to reclaim the feeling of safety and serenity John’s home had always afforded her, but Morgan soon found herself back in the room she had been avoiding since the miserable morning she lost her husband.
It was as if the apartment had been frozen in time, everything still in the exact place she and John had left it the last night they were there together. The bed was still unmade, the sheets and blankets tossed aside, just as it had been. Morgan half expected to see John sitting in the corner reading a book, or silently sleeping. But the apartment was empty, and a bitter chill hung in the air from the week of vacancy.
As Morgan crossed over to the bed, she kicked something, sending it flying across the floor. She reached down and picked up the item. It was John’s medical bracele
t.
She sat on the bed and cradled it in her hand, softly stroking the smooth surface with her fingers. The writing was still clear. Patient ID#: 24819.
Lying down on the bed, Morgan pulled John’s pillow towards her and hugged it against her chest. It still smelled like him.
And there she stayed, wrapped in John’s scent while silent tears soaked his pillow. She had shut everything out for so long, denied every truth she had ever known out of some twisted sense of obligation, but here the world was familiar and inviting. Her breathing began to slow, and her eyes grew heavy. This is my home now, she thought before finally drifting off to sleep.
Time and time again, far too many times, just and noble causes have required the lives of our best citizens. Brave and selfless men and women who placed their love for their city above all else. It is hypocrisy, then, if those whose mere existence saps on the strength of their fellow man are not called upon to make a lesser sacrifice. The good people of Haven should not have to bear the burden of the incompetent.
-Council Address, reign of the Council, Year 41
Uniformed men stood outside the mess hall, flanking the entrance and inspecting each patient as they passed. They did not wear the typical uniform of a keeper. These men seemed cleaner, more formal. They were the face of the asylum, the handsome, smiling front that greeted all the outsiders. Their presence created quite the stir among the patients, and excited whispers soon filled every hallway and corner of the asylum. These men only ever came this deep into the asylum for one thing. Someone had a visitor.
Each patient passed the guards more slowly than usual, hoping they would be the one stopped and taken to a friendly face. John had no such hope. It had been almost two weeks since he was brought to the asylum and no one had ever come to see him. Not that he expected any visitors. In fact, he was relieved no one had come. Amos had explained the asylum’s visitor guidelines early on: friends were discouraged from coming, only direct relatives were allowed. Either way, there was only one person John could think of who would ever visit him, and he had not seen or heard from Morgan since the morning he was arrested.
Which was why John was surprised when the guards stopped him and instructed him to follow them.
They led him through a maze of doors, each more heavily locked than the last until they finally came to a stop at the end of the hall. One guard instructed John to hold his hands out, securing handcuffs around John’s wrists while the other guard pulled a key from the chain on his belt and, unlocking the door, led John into the visitor’s center. John’s heart raced as he scanned the faces of free citizens hoping to see their incarcerated loved ones. Of the dozen tables, lined meticulously into three rows of four, only two were occupied. Only two visitors for hundreds of patients.
“John!” A familiar sweet voice came from a corner table near the window. And there, glowing in the morning light, sat his dear wife. John’s first urge was to run to Morgan and embrace her, but the cold steel of the handcuffs pinched into his wrists.
The guards led John to the table where Morgan waited, roughly pushing him into the chair across from her. The words ‘No Touching’ sprawled on the wall above her in large black letters.
“Does he have to wear those?” Morgan asked the guards.
“It’s for your protection, ma’am,” the guard stated.
“He’s not dangerous,” Morgan protested, but he remained unmoved.
“Standard protocol, ma’am,” he said before returning to his post.
Neither John nor Morgan spoke for a moment. How did you greet someone you know so intimately in such a restrictive setting?
“Hi, John.” Morgan finally said.
“It’s good to see you,” he replied and smiled a half-smile. Morgan’s shoulders relaxed as she smiled back.
“I’ve missed you so much,” she sighed. She looked towards the guard. “Are they treating you well?”
“Well enough,” he said flatly. “I’m surprised to see you.” He was fishing now, waiting for her to reveal how she had secured a visit with him. To admit whether or not she had publicly made it known she was technically Morgan Hunter.
“I tried to come to see you the day after you were arrested, but they only allow family members,” Morgan looked down at her hands in her lap, “so I had to use the Loughlin name to pull a few strings.”
There it was. John wasn’t sure what he was feeling, if it was relief or heart-break, but at least he had his answer. As far as the world was concerned, Morgan was in no way tied to him.
“How is your family?”
Morgan shook her head. “Please don’t talk to me like I’m a stranger. I know you must be mad at me,” she began, but John quickly cut her off.
“Of course I’m not mad at you.”
“I keep replaying that day in my head, trying to figure out how I could have stopped them from taking you.” She raised her eyes to meet his gaze. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“It’s not your fault, Morgan.”
Chuckling dryly, she continued. “And here I am, making you comfort me while you’re the one locked away in this awful place.”
They sat in silence for a moment, each waiting for the other to say something.
“What are you doing here, Morgan?” John said shortly.
Morgan stared, her eyebrows knit in shock at his reaction. He doubted this was the reunion she had expected.
“I came to see you,” she replied.
“Why?” John knew he was being unnecessarily harsh, but he couldn’t stand the way she was looking at him or the pity that was so clearly written across her face. “I don’t expect you to stay with me if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because I know you well enough to know you won’t. If you need an out, this is me giving you one.”
Morgan leaned back in her chair, turned her head away from John, and glared at the wall. “I am so sick of this,” she said. “I am so sick of everyone assuming they know what I’m thinking because you couldn’t be more wrong.”
“Maybe you need to reconsider then.”
Morgan exhaled sharply. “You don’t mean that.”
“I honestly do, Morgan,” John said. He felt lifeless, like a stoic statue pretending to be human as he watched with forced apathy at the way his words cut the one person he loved. “I’m sure I don’t need to list all the reasons why you should walk away right now; your family has probably already done that for me, but that doesn’t make them any less true.”
“Please, just stop it,” Morgan said.
“Stop what?”
“This self-deprecating nonsense. This isn’t you, John. You can’t give up like this.”
“What am I supposed to do, Morgan?”
“Fight back!” she shouted.
John scoffed, “You make it sound so easy.”
“You’re just afraid.”
“Aren’t you, Ms. Loughlin?” he said, and even though he understood why she hadn’t told anyone about their marriage—it was the same reason why he never told anyone about it either—it did not make the public denial hurt any less.
Morgan flinched and John knew he had gone too far.
“Of course I’m afraid,” Morgan replied. “But I’m done wasting any more time on being afraid.”
“Then why are you here?”
She reached her hand across the table towards John, but he recoiled, moving his hands from the table to his lap. He looked to the sign on the wall and then to the guard pacing the room, wondering if he had seen.
“Did they ever tell you what’s wrong with me?” John asked softly, his voice barely louder than a whisper.
“There’s nothing wrong with you, John.”
“It’s some sort of blood disease, Morgan. I have no idea what or how bad it is, but if it’s bad enough to get me arrested then it’s only a matter of time before…”
“And I will be right there beside you no matter what,” Morgan said. “I know
you’re going through hell right now, but we’re going to make it through this. And then you’ll come home, and the worst will be behind us.”
“Look around you,” John hissed. Her blind optimism infuriated him. “How am I supposed to come back from this? I don’t even feel like a person anymore. I just feel hollow. Like I shouldn’t even be alive, because all of this,” he said, gesturing all around him, “is supposed to be mercy. Haven’s show of leniency for a poor unfit who has already been given more than he deserves.”
“Stop it,” Morgan whispered, her shoulders trembling. But he couldn’t stop. She needed to hear this. He had to make her understand, no matter how much he hated himself for it.
“How can you hope to have a future with me when I’m barely allowed to have one myself?”
“Because I don’t have a future without you,” she said, her voice shaking in anger as a tear rolled down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away. “If you truly want me to leave, then I will. I’m not going to beg you. But it has to be because you don’t love me anymore. And you have to say it.”
John said nothing. He wanted to say it. He willed himself to say it. I don’t love you. He repeated those words over and over in his head, screamed them in his mind. I don’t love you because if I truly did, then I would tell you to leave. I would let you go. But he couldn’t make the words come.
So they sat in silence, each hoping the other would say something to make the whole ugly situation better. But if there were words that could do that, John did not know what they were.
Finally, Morgan leaned forward, reaching for John under the table until her fingertips gently brushed against the back of his hand, her touch soft and sweet.
“You made me a promise, John Hunter,” she said. “You promised me the two of us would be a family no matter what and I intend to hold you to that promise. So don’t you ever tell me to walk away ever again because I can live without kids. I can live without status or prestige or whatever the hell it is you think I’d be giving up. But I can’t live without you. I don’t have a future without you, John. I don’t want one.” She smiled through her glistening tears and, gently holding his hand in hers, softly squeezed it once, then twice. “I love you, John. You are the only husband I will ever want or ever have.”
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