Isabella had been sitting vigil for twenty minutes when Dr. Morrison returned, carrying a clear plastic bag marked "Patient Personal Effects."
"Mrs. Black," he said quietly—and Isabella's heart still stuttered at hearing that title from someone other than herself. "We recovered Mr. Black's belongings from the vehicle. Standard procedure is to return them to family. Since you're the legal spouse..."
He held out the bag.
Isabella took it with trembling hands. Inside, she could see the remnants of Liam's life at the moment of impact: his wallet, cracked but intact. His watch—expensive, now shattered. His keys. His wedding ring—
No. Wait. They'd never worn rings. That had been part of the contract. No visible evidence of marriage.
But there was a ring. A small, crushed velvet box, dented from the impact but still recognizable as what it was.
A jeweler's box.
Isabella's breath caught. Her hands froze on the bag.
