“I’m sick, Hugh.” My heart sank. “You are?” She tapped her temple. “In here.” “No, you’re not.” Unable to stop myself, I reached down and stroked her cheek. “You’re perfect.” “I’m sick.” Her hand shot out from under the covers and covered mine. “I’m not right in the head.” “Don’t say that,” I pleaded, feeling panicked. “You’re my Lizzie. Same as you’ve always been.”
