“I should go,” he says quietly, pushing up from the couch.
Panic shoots through my chest, and I sit up straighter. “No, wait.”
He pauses.
“Stay.” My voice is barely a breath. “Please.”
His shoulders drop slightly, like the weight of those words hits somewhere deep. He hesitates, then nods once, silently, and sinks back down beside me.
Good Lord, I don’t even know if I want him to come or go. To push him away or pull him close. I’ve never been more confused in my life. All I know is, I don’t want him to leave. I want to be near him.
None of it makes sense anymore.
I shift closer, placing my pillow near his leg, and lie down, my hands resting near my face. His fingers find mine again, tugging one hand into his lap—no tracing this time. Just holding. Just the quiet comfort of skin on skin and my husband’s familiar presence.
I stare at my dad, exhaustion pressing heavy on my chest.We can’t control the cards we’re dealt, only how we play the hand.
That’s what he said on Christmas Eve. And right now, I feel like I’ve just been dealt one card short of a royal flush.
Do I throw it and risk everything—pray for the one I need to win?
Or fold before I lose it all, again?
The odds aren’t great.
Thirty percent.
That’s how many like Jensen make it past the first year and stay clean. On a good day.
Maybe I don’t have to decide yet. Maybe I just let this be what it is—time with Jensen. Not a choice. Not a fork in the road.
Just... this.
His fingers drift into my hair, combing gently.
It’s not clarity. It’s not a decision. But it feels good. And for now, that’s enough.
I close my eyes, letting the calm flood in, soft and steady. Jensen’s touch grounds me like a live wire finally cut.
The thoughts slow.
The buzz of exhaustion begins to fade.
And for the first time in days, I sleep.
I stirat the sound of hushed voices in the distance. I crack an eye open, just enough to see that it’s still mostly dark, with a faint glow coming from the other side of the room. Must be the nurses taking Dad’s vitals and distributing meds. I snuggle back into my pillow, relief sweeping through me when I realize how well I slept.
Jensen’s voice cuts through the quiet, and suddenly I’m wide awake. I strain to hear, opening my eyes like that might help.
Jensen’s standing near the bed. It’s inclined just enough for my dad to take a drink. The dim light above him is on, and my dad looks more alive than he has since I arrived.
“Can I get you anything else?” Jensen asks, placing the water jug back on the tray.
My heart lurches—Jensen’s only met my dad a couple of times. He doesn’t know him. They don’t have a relationship. Yet, he’s up early, helping him like he would his own dad.
“No, I think that’s all for now. Thank you. I’ll let you get back to sleep.”
“Actually,” Jensen says, “I’d love to talk, if you’re up for it.”
