She stalks down the hall before I can say anything else, bare feet silent on the floor.
The front door opens.
Cameron walks in with a small bag of ice and a carton of something—milk, maybe—like he’s trying to contribute in the only way he knows.
He pauses when he sees me alone in the kitchen. His eyes flick down the hall toward Sloane’s room, then back to me.
“Where’d she go?” he asks, suspicious but not accusing.
I keep my expression neutral. “To her room.”
Cameron narrows his eyes. “Why?”
I shrug. “Because she’s Sloane.”
Cameron exhales like he’s exhausted by the answer. “Fair.”
He tosses the ice bag into the freezer, then glances at my knee. “You icing?”
“Yes, Mother,” I say quickly, because Sloane will haunt me if I lie.
Cameron’s mouth twitches. “Good.”
He leans against the counter, rubbing a hand over his face. He looks tired—real tired. Not gym tired.Soultired.
“Pops up?” he asks.
“Was,” I say. “He went back to lie down.”
Cameron nods slowly, then glances toward the hall again. “Slo good?”
My chest tightens.
I could lie. I could say yes.
But I don’t, because Cameron deserves truth—even if it's a small truth.
“She’s…trying,” I say carefully.
Cameron’s jaw tightens. “Yeah.”
He looks at me for a beat like he wants to ask more.
Like he senses something in the air that doesn’t have a name yet.
My stomach knots, then Cameron blows out a breath and shifts the conversation like he’s choosing not to poke the bruise.
“Thanks for being here,” he says quietly.
My throat tightens. “Always.”
Cameron nods once, then claps my shoulder gently—careful of my leg, careful of everything these days.
“I’m gonna shower,” he says, then adds, “Text me if you need anything.”
He disappears down the hall.
The house quiets again.
