"There comes a point in your life when you realize who really matters, who never did, and who always will."-Anonymous

Robin knew from the moment she awoke that she had made a terrible mistake.

It had been difficult to truly comprehend her situation over the past week-difficult to sift through the waves of shock and pain that had threatened to overwhelm her. It was as if she had become an automaton, mechanically carrying out her daily routine, allowing herself to be shepherded through the preparations for the wedding with neither interest nor protest. The pain had been with her every day, but it had paralyzed her-enveloped her in a miasma of numbness and silence, entrapping all thought in a listless haze. Matthew and her mother had attempted, in vain, to penetrate that stillness-to brace her, to encourage her to look forward to the new beginning ahead. But nothing they had said had mattered. Nothing mattered anymore.

But last night, something had torn through the mist, forcibly shaking her out of the numb reverie that had threatened to dissolve her will completely. She had dreamt of Strike.

Robin had been sitting at her desk in the office on Denmark street. A typed report had sat on the desk before her, the words blurred and unreadable. Her computer monitor has been dark, the office lights dimmed. No light shone through the windows looking out onto the busy London street. She was alone.

Robin had known in the dream that something was wrong, that something dreadful had happened. She had been gripped with anticipation and fear, staring fixedly at the front door, every moment desperately waiting to hear the familiar asymmetric thump on the stairs, or to see the well-known shadow rise beyond the doorway.

None came.

The dream Robin had known, with a sudden flash of dread, what must have happened. It must have been the killer-he must have found Strike. Even now, he could be cornered in an alleyway, threatened with knives. And she was powerless to do anything.

Robin had gotten up from her chair and run from the office. Instinctively, she had directed herself towards the University hospital-the very same hospital she had been driven to when she had been stabbed. Her strides carried her over the expanse of London, noiseless and dreamlike, impossibly long, the surroundings blurring around her. And suddenly, she was in the hallway of Casualty, looking around desperately for Strike.

She had seen him in an instant, and her insides had shriveled within her at the sight. His face had been beaten to a bruised pulp, contorted in pain, almost unrecognizable. His sheets had been soaked with sweat and blood. His right leg still bore the prosthesis, which was lying crookedly away from him at the foot of his bed. As Robin's gaze had drifted towards his left leg-the leg she had always known to be whole-she had found only a stump, cut cleanly away below the knee.

"Robin."

His face had changed once he had seen her. The pain began to clear away from his face, his eyes softening as he looked up at her.

"I knew you'd come, Robin." He had said slowly. "I always knew you would."

Robin's heart had leapt within her. The desolation and terror she had felt as she had raced towards him was melting away, replaced with an on overwhelming relief. She had knelt by his bedside and taken his hand in both of hers.

"You're a nice person." He had said. "You know that."

Robin could not speak. She could only look at him.

But as she watched, beaming, full of an emotion she couldn't completely understand, his face had changed. It had become withdrawn, confused. He slipped his hand slowly out of her grasp, back towards himself.

"But you hurt me, Robin."

As quickly as her happiness had come, it had disappeared, replaced by a low hum of bounding panic as Strike's eyebrows furrowed, his frown deepening.

"Cormoran, I-"

"Why did you hurt me?"

"I didn't mean-" Robin had choked on the words, fighting not to let the tears fall. "I never would have-I had to-I didn't mean-"

"I wasn't angry about what you did." He had said. He had looked thoughtful, unsmiling. "It was because you left. You were leaving."

Robin desperately wanted to protest, to beg him to understand-that she never would leave, that all she had ever wanted in her life was to stay, to stay with the job, to stay with him-but the words stuck in her throat.

Strike had looked her full in the face now.

"I was standing there." He had said. "I was standing there, right in front of you."

And as her world was collapsing in around her, nurses had appeared from behind her, taking her by the arms, dragging her out of the room. She fought against them, but the curtains were closing before her, and Strike was going, going, gone-

Robin had been torn out of her sleep, drenched in a cold sweat, gasping for air. Matthew had stirred in his sleep beside her, but he had not awoken. She had wiped the sweat from her forehead, shaking her head repeatedly, trying to clear it of the suffocating panic which had overwhelmed her.

But she couldn't shake it away-she couldn't rid herself of that all-consuming dread. Because now, as she lay on her bed on the day of her wedding, her mind still full of the face of the man she had left behind, the reality of her situation cascaded upon her, its full weight making itself felt for the first time. She saw, as clearly as if the truth was a beacon of light illuminating the path before her,where her life was meant to lead. Towards her lifelong passion, secretly cherished for so long, and constantly endeavoured towards, despite the circumstances and obstacles that threatened to tear it from her. To her vocation-and to Strike.

But Strike was gone. He had wrenched himself out of her life and had walked away, never once looking back. He had cast aside everything they had been through together-the countless experiences, the mutual pursuit and shared pain that had bound them more closely together than Robin would have ever thought possible-and he had gone. And Robin was forced to watch her life break apart once more. She had only realized the foundation on which she had built her every hope when it had been snatched from beneath her, leaving everything to collapse into rubble in its wake.

And each day was carrying her further and further away from the life she longed for. She had allowed herself to be led away from Strike, her work, away from everything she held dear-and she knew, deep in her bones, that with this day-with this wedding-she was cementing her future, and sealing her fate.

But even as she faced the fact squarely in the face, Robin felt overwhelmed by a sense of profound powerlessness. What could she do, in the face of such opposition? How could she struggle against the inexorable winds that had swept her here-against the expectations of her family, her obligation to Matthew, the muscular resistance of the congregation that would be waiting, expectant and smiling, in the church of her childhood?

And after all, what was there to struggle against, when the life she had wanted and worked for so fiercely did not want her?

Strike had forsaken her-and today, she was forsaking herself.