And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can endure it.

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Where for forty days he was tempted by the devil. He ate nothing during those days, and at the end of them he was hungry.

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Can a man walk on hot coals without his feet being scorched?

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Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.

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"Aunt Lora?"

Krista's voice jostled her out of her trance. Lora was clutching her Rosary beads like a lifeline, the skin on her fingers rubbed raw, but she hadn't managed to finish a single Hail Mary. Instead, she reiterated every verse, every homily, every doctrine her brain could conjure about temptation, hoping to find something she can use as guidance.

She was hungry but she walked away. She did not succumb... yet. How could she endure it? She was still shaken at how beautifully, how simply and indiscernibly temptation presented itself. She had learned this in her Catholic lessons. They had told her about the three temptations of Jesus. 'But the Lord Jesus saw right through him, the ugly devil who wanted to prove that every man is susceptible to him, even the son of God.'

But now, she felt the way temptation was presented to her was not fair. It wasn't what she was looking out for. It was not hideous sin wrapped in a glorious package. There was nothing hideous about Owen Shaw. Not on the outside. Not on the inside. He was sweet and warm and pure throughout. It was their circumstance, their domain that was hideous.

Lora forced a smile at her niece, the young woman she raised as her own since she was three feet tall. She watched her features soften as her almond, brown eyes settled on her father, lying still in the hospital bed, breathing softly, peacefully, through his intubation apparatus.

"Anything yet?" Krista asked hopefully as she took a seat beside her.

Lora shook her head. "Not yet. They're still weaning him off the barbiturates. His heart rate increased slightly, but not much. And there were no movements whatsoever."

"Has Dr Brandon been to see him?"

"Yes, she was here less than an hour ago. She seemed happy. His vitals are good so..."

Krista sighed and reached into her bag. In her hand was a string of pearl-white Rosary beads with a silver cross at the end. She lifted it to her lips adoringly, lowered her head and started murmuring the Catholic incantations her aunt taught her when she was just a little girl.

Lora felt her heart swell with emotion, instantly recognising the beads. Did she feel... happiness? Hope? Surprise? She wasn't sure, but it was good.

"Those Rosary beads," she exclaimed. "You still have them!"

Krista lifted her head and gave Lora a warm grin. "Of course. Jess has hers too. We use them every night to pray."

Lora's eyes filled with moisture as she remembered the night she first put them to bed herself. It was right after her sister's funeral. The girls hadn't been able to sleep since their mother's tragic death and Jonathan, having no one else to turn to, asked for her help.

She bought two matching Rosary Beads and asked Father Louis to bless them for the girls during the ceremony.

"Keep these with you always," she told them as she tucked them into their little beds, "and your mother will only be one Hail Mary away."

Then she taught them the most beautiful prayer, the Rosary. And together they prayed every night. And every night, the girls slept soundly, their little hearts at peace. She'd often find Jonathan sunken deep into the couch, an empty glass in hand, the smell of single malt heavy on his breath. She'd say a quick good night and pray for him as she drove back home in the middle of the night.

But then one night, when she made her way down the grand staircase she admired so much since the day she saw Hannah walking down it wearing a glorious white ball gown before the opening of her husband's new antique business, she found Jonathan sitting at Hannah's grand piano. He looked sad and reminiscent and Lora remembered thinking he looked beautiful that night. Finally, there was evidence of life in his eyes, a reclaimed ability to feel, not the empty shell he'd been looking like lately.

"She played so beautifully," he said in a gruff voice. "I used to tease her because her music was too sad. She'd answer that it's because she played from the heart. Her heart was sad. But her music was beautiful."

Lora didn't know how to answer. She sat beside him and gently placed her fingers on the keys. She strung a few notes together but no melody flowed.

"She tried to teach me once," Lora admitted, talking openly about her sister for the first time since she passed away. "But I was rubbish. I learned one song. London Bridge is falling down." Lora allowed herself a chuckle at the happy memory. "Hannah said my atrocious playing was the reason it fell."

Jonathan laughed with her. The sound made Lora's heart soar. She didn't think she'd ever hear laughter again in this house.

"Thank you, Lora. I honestly don't know what I would do without you right now."

Lora looked into Jonathan's sapphire blue eyes. He was broken. She felt sorry for him. She wished her sister had been stronger for him and for Jess and Krista. She wished she had fought harder for them and for her parents. And at that moment, Lora wished she could make things better, she wanted to fix what her sister couldn't.

And before she had time to understand how wrong her train of thought was, before she could process her feelings into reason, she saw her sister's picture-perfect husband tilt his head towards her. She saw his eyes close and felt his hand on her chin. Without knowing how she let Jonathan pull her closer and kiss her.

She hadn't really kissed many boys before, but none of them had kissed her quite like that. Her head was spinning, her heart was racing and her legs were liquid. Never in her twenty-three years had she felt so young and yet so grown up.

They parted for a mere moment, just enough time for the wonder to flood Lora's doe eyes and for Jonathan to be completely enamoured by her. "You have the most beautiful eyes, Lora," he told her.

And maybe she didn't really believe it, but at that moment, the young woman pretended everything was right. That the forty-one-year-old man holding her was actually her husband, that Jess and Krista, sleeping unknowingly upstairs were her babies, that Hannah was happy with another family somewhere else and this was her home, her happily ever after.

She felt Jona's weathered hand wrap around her soft cheek, calloused fingers creeping into her fine hair as he kissed her youthful lips again. She kissed him back, opening her mouth for him like it was her duty, allowing him to take from her whatever he needed to heal. She let him pretend whatever he needed to get through this.

And yet today, as Krista sat beside her, one hand twisting the Rosary beads, the other her squeezing her hand, lips moving fast as she whispered the solemn invocations, Lora knew that was all it was. That was all it ever would be. Her duty, her allegiance to heal what was wounded. Her pretend world was forced into a reality. But it wasn't real. It wasn't living.

Can a man walk on hot coals without his feet being scorched?

No.

The door opened behind them and both women looked up. Dr Brandon came in and Lora and Krista stood up, but Lora almost fell to her knees when a pair of light green eyes landed on her and nailed her to the spot.

It hit her like a ton of bricks. The want. The need. The pull. As strong, probably stronger than it was yesterday. Consistent and certain, like gravity. Like the air in her lungs and the fire in her core. She was going to explode and implode and extinguish. It drove her insane. Seconds became an eternity. The space around her became a vacuum as memories from yesterday filled her brain.

"I think we can reduce the dose a bit more," Dr Brandon's voice said from a million miles away. She wasn't listening and neither was Owen. Lora could hear the faint beeping of the pump as she adjusted the dose. She could hear Krista talking in the background.

 Hail Mary, Full of Grace, The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

Nothing made sense to Lora. Her world had become nothing but want and light green and living.

I need you to live, Lora.

His hands on her back. The tips of his fingers threading lightly up her spine, tracing her jaw, holding her face. Their noses brushing against each other, their breaths mixed. Their eyes melded, questioning, fearsome, wanting. Their hearts beating like rocks at their flesh.

Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of our death.

"He's moving!"

Lora broke her gaze turning to her husband. It felt as though she was rushed out from underwater. She saw Jonathan's right hand jerk once. His eyes fluttered open. They wandered around the room in a panic until they landed on her. His blue irises flashed with anger, accusation. Lora was frozen. She couldn't speak. She couldn't move. Guilt swamped her chest, bubbling inside her lungs.

And then Jona's eyes rolled to the back of his skull. His whole body started to shake forcefully. White froth formed at the corners of his mouth. Krista was shouting for her father. 

Dr Shaw moved past them and flipped Jonathan into the recovery position. Dr Brandon hit the Nurse Call and shouted for the crash trolley as she quickly increased the rate of barbiturates flowing into Jonathan's blood system.

Lora tried to focus through the haze. She heard words like Valium and Propofol and Oxygen. The beeping and buzzing increased until they culminated in an explosion of silence.

Jonathan was back into his peaceful coma. Dr Brandon was shaking her head. Krista was breathing hard, tears in her eyes. And Owen was looking at Lora, the concern in his eyes as though she might shatter into a million pieces, on display for everyone to see.

"We'll try again tomorrow," she heard Dr Brandon say.

But Lora couldn't bear it. She ran out of the room as fast as her weary feet allowed her. She pushed through the doors of the ICU and only when she was halfway down the corridor did she feel she could breathe again. She undid the first two buttons of her crisp, white shirt.

Put enough distance between them and it wouldn't matter how strong the magnets are. The pull did not affect what was outside of the magnetic field. That was her endurance. Distance.

"Lora!" she heard him call her. "Lora, stop!"

"What do you want?" she cried, turning to face him. She heard the desperation in her voice.

He was inappropriately close. Anyone could see how inappropriate his closeness was. The hurt in his green eyes was quickly replaced with empathy. But she couldn't handle empathy. She didn't deserve understanding. She already felt her body leaning towards him, so she straightened her back. Distance.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She stared at him utterly bewildered. Lora didn't know what to say or think or do. She didn't know what she was feeling or what she wanted. She didn't know why she was upset or what was distressing her most. She felt like she fell into a pit of hot coals and she was getting scorched.

Tears flowed freely like the Jordan River. Her eyes searched for an answer everywhere but they kept gravitating back to him. Her lips quivered. Her hands fell by her side and she shook her head in defeat.

In one swift motion, Dr Owen Shaw pulled Lora into his chest and held her tight. He kissed her hair and absorbed her sobs and, for better or worse, there was nothing pretend about the way he made her feel like there was nowhere else she belonged but in his arms.