Lucy heaved a sigh and lay the mirror face down on her bedside tray. She didn’t want to observe her reflection any longer. She looked hideous. Her beautiful auburn hair was gone. Staples ran from the top of her head, down her skull to her neck. Once the staples came out, she would have a deep scar for the rest of her life. Her hair would cover the scar once it grew back, but would her hair grow back as soft and sumptuous as it once was?

Staples also ran the length of her neck from behind her right ear to her jugular. Michael informed her that broken glass had nicked the artery in her neck, and she was lucky to be alive. Lucy snorted. Lucky. She didn’t feel lucky. She felt ugly. She looked dreadful. The urge to cry overwhelmed her, but yet the tears wouldn’t come.

Her baby survived the accident, and for that, she was grateful. Once her condition stabilized and the hospital discovered she was pregnant, an obstetrician gave her a sonogram. That’s when Lucy learned she would be honoring Rob with a son.

To think she had thoughts of aborting it right before the accident. How dreadful. How could she even think of doing something like that? And why would she? It was only temporary panic that caused her to think those terrible thoughts. Once the panic evaporated, the thoughts went away, too. Now she knew she loved her baby and wanted to raise him.

The night she and Rob talked things over about the baby and his touring, Lucy assumed that things would be okay. She almost laughed at that thought. What was the adage? Assume makes an ASS out of U and ME. There was never a clearer phrase than that. She shouldn’t have assumed anything. Something deeper was going on in Rob’s subconscious that she was unaware of. He might not be aware of it either. He never did follow up with the doctor appointments. Those appointments were something he needed to keep. It looked like his life depended on it.

There was a light knock on her door, and it opened. “Hello, beautiful.”

Despite her mood, Lucy smiled. “Hello, Michael.”

“How’s my girl today? You’re looking irresistible, as always.”

Now, she laughed. “Oh, how I wish you really meant that.”

“I do, and I can prove it to you.”

“Oh?”

He bobbed his head. “I’ll be right back.”

He was back in moments carrying an acoustic guitar. He grinned at the puzzled look on her face. “I wrote you a song last night.”

Her eyes widened. “You write songs?”

“I do,” he laughed. “Oh, I’m not a professional. It’s just a hobby.”

“And you wrote a song for me?”

“I most certainly did. I couldn’t get you off my mind, so I wrote this.”

He perched on the edge of her bed and settled the guitar in his lap. It didn’t take him long to tune it up and strum a few chords. Nodding in satisfaction, he started to sing.

Lucy studied him as he sang the lyrics he wrote for her.

Michael Everett was a Godsend. The first time she met him, he told her how beautiful and desirable she was. It was the first time she woke up and felt her hair gone. She remembered how she struggled that night, with a ventilator tube down her throat and fifty staples in her head. Half of her head was bandaged, the other half bald. If not for Michael, she didn’t know what she might have done.

He was extremely attractive. Almost as tall as Rob and in his colorful nurses’ scrubs, she could tell he was broad-shouldered and sturdy. His hair, a strawberry blond, wore shoulder length and tied in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. His eyes were a glacial blue with a hint of brown around the irises. His eyebrows were thick and dark, and his sweeping eyelashes were the envy of all the nurses on her floor.

She watched his hands strum the guitar. He had long, slender fingers. They moved easily over the strings, never missing a note. His voice was deep, and he was a good singer, though he didn’t have the projection needed to sing professionally.

When he finished the song, he laid the guitar on her bed and gazed thoughtfully at her, his eyebrows raised in question.

“Oh, my God, Michael,” she said, placing her hand at her throat. “That is so beautiful.”

He grinned. “Does that mean you like it?”

“You know it does. You wrote that for me?”

“I did. I wanted you to know how I see you when I look at you. You see yourself as hairless and scarred. I don’t see you that way. When I look at you, Lucy, I see a very desirable and beautiful woman.”

For the first time in her life, Lucy felt a warm flush creep up her neck and into her cheeks. She buried her face in her hands. She didn’t know why, but suddenly, for the first time since the accident, she started to cry.