Her hands shook as she gently cleaned him, careful, respectful, tender.
But when she carefully lifted his shirt to wash his back—
Clara froze.
The room seemed to disappear.
On Robert’s shoulder, among deep, old scars, was a tattoo she recognized instantly.
An eagle holding a rose.
Her entire body began to tremble.
That image had lived inside her since she was seven years old.
Twenty years earlier, the group home where Clara lived had caught fire.
Smoke.
Screams.
Flames everywhere.
Continue on the next page:
