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Four months after Grace Mercer walked back into a burning apartment and sacrificed half her face to save the man she loved, he came home for lunch with another woman and a suitcase. Grace had spent the entire morning cooking with one hand because her left arm still would not rise above her shoulder. She had set the table for two, believing that if she could make one ordinary meal, perhaps she and Logan Pierce could finally have one honest conversation.
Three years earlier, at two in the morning, Grace…
Three years earlier, at two in the morning, Grace had found a bleeding stranger behind the hospital where she worked. He had refused an ambulance because a gunshot wound meant police questions. Against every rule she had been trained to obey, she had taken him through a service entrance to a basement supply room, removed a bullet lodged shallowly in his side, and closed the wound with nine ugly stitches using the only suture material available.
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Disclaimer: This story is fictional and created for entertainment purposes only.
Any names, characters, places, or events are fictitious or used fictitiously.
No real person or organization is intended to be portrayed.