Chapter 2

In the end, I went anyway.

Not because I trusted Rosemary, but because my mother held my hand the whole time after she came out of the training room.

Five years ago, she wasn't like this.

Back then, when the hospital told us the baby couldn't be saved, she slapped Rosemary twice in the corridor, in front of everyone.

Rosemary knelt and cried, saying she'd only wanted me to calm down for ten minutes. My mother pointed at her and shouted, "You are never to appear in front of my daughter again for the rest of your life."

Herbert was even harsher.

He blocked Rosemary outside the hospital room and said only one thing: "If you want to atone, staying away from her is how you atone."

After that, Rosemary really did disappear.

At least, I always thought she had.

The banquet hall was already full of people, and a large photo of Rosemary stood at the entrance.

In the photo, she's wearing a rescue uniform, her face streaked with mud, the people she'd just pulled out standing behind her.

A line was printed beneath it.

"From one unforgivable mistake to a lifetime of making amends."

Our seats were in the front row.

After the host took the stage, he began by introducing several major rescues from the past year.

Rosemary's name came up the most.

Thirty-some straight hours working through a flash flood, going into the mountains in winter to find missing elderly people, and last year pulling two trapped workers out of a warehouse fire.

Every time the audience applauded, my mother's eyes grew a little redder.

She even whispered to me, "These past few years she's really been risking her life for this."

I didn't respond.

The big screen soon cut to Rosemary's personal short film.

It opened with a photo from five years ago.

The narration said that five years ago, Rosemary made a serious mistake that caused irreversible harm to her best friend.

In the interview, she said through tears, "I keep thinking—if I'd known a little about emergency response, if I'd known what could happen to a person in a sealed space, if I'd opened that door one minute sooner, maybe things would have turned out differently."

The whole room went quiet.

Someone in the back row sniffled.

The narration went on: after that, Rosemary quit her job, went through rescue training, started as a volunteer, and over five years took part in more than a hundred rescues.

"Turning irreparable regret into the strength to protect more people."

When the applause rose, I suddenly couldn't quite make out the sounds around me.

Five years ago, I lost my child.

Rosemary lost a job.

Five years later, I still can't move past it.

And she stood on that stage, with people already starting to call her a "rescue hero."

The host invited Rosemary up to the stage.

She came over to me, her eyes red, and asked, "Sandra, can I ask you to come up there with me?"

I looked at her. "Why?"

"Because without you, there wouldn't be the me standing here today."

People around us had already noticed.

My mother gently nudged my arm. "Go on up. This award today really does have something to do with you."

Herbert added quietly, "It's just standing there for a moment. You don't have to say anything."

I didn't move.

The host on stage seemed to have gotten some kind of cue, and picked up smoothly with a smile.

"Actually, we have a very special guest with us today. Captain Pruitt has always said that the person she's most grateful to over these past five years isn't just her rescue team partners, but also someone who has always supported her in carrying on."

Rosemary's expression suddenly shifted.

The host was already looking toward the front row.

"Mr. Delgado, please come to the stage."