NOVEMBER

“Oh what a tangled web we weave,

When first we practise to deceive!”

Sir Walter Scott, Marmion, Canto vi. Stanza 17.

Scottish author & novelist (1771 – 1832)

At first, I think it is the rain on the windows that has woken me from my slumber, but as I listen more carefully, I hear a pounding on my door. Not sure who on earth would be knocking at this hour, let alone on the day I am released from The Clinic, I wait a few more seconds before curiosity gets the better of me.

I fling on my fluffy purple dressing gown and flick on the hallway light. The shadowy figure behind the glass stops pounding as I pad down the stairs and pull open the door. In amazement, I stare into Taylor’s chocolaty-brown eyes. He is drenched and droplets of water run down his face, suggesting that he has been standing outside for a while.

My heart clenches at the sight of Taylor standing here, despite the fact that I have not heard from him since he walked out of my hospital room following the shocking announcem