"Before the raid, I think? They had me on IV fluids, but?—"
"You need real food. I'll go make you something." She stands. "What sounds good?"
"Anything. Everything. I'm starving."
"I'll see what's in the kitchen."
She kisses my forehead and slips out the door.
I watch her go, still not quite believing this is real.
That she said yes.
That we're doing this.
A few minutes later, the door opens again.
But it's not Ingrid.
It's her father.
He stands in the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
This should be interesting.
"Sir," I say.
"Don't 'sir' me. We're past that." He moves into the room, closes the door behind him. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I got stabbed."
"Funny. Your mother said you'd say that." He pulls up a chair, sits. "She also said you're healing well. That you'll make a full recovery."
"That's the plan."
"Good. We need you back on your feet." He pauses. "But that's not why I'm here."
"I know."
"You asked my daughter to be your ol’ lady."
It's not a question.
"How did you?—"
"I saw her face when she left this room. I've known Ingrid her whole life. I know what that expression means." His eyes bore into mine. "You asked her, and she said yes."
"She did."
Silence.
Long.
Heavy.
I don't look away.
Don't flinch.
