She was standing near the glass doors, bundled up in her cardigan and scarf, hair loose around her shoulders. She looked like the warmth this building didn’t deserve.
For a second, I thought maybe she was waiting for me.
Stupid. Wishful thinking.
Until she turned, and I saw her phone in her hand, eyes soft, tired, reading something.
I walked up before I could stop myself.
“Where are you going?”
She looked up, startled.
There was that brief flash of hesitation again, like she was remembering everything we were, everything we weren’t.
Her lips parted, and she said quietly. “Hospital.”
My chest tightened. “Why?”
She hesitated. Then, finally, she said it, quietly if she didn’t quite want to, “Jennie texted me… Alex said the cast comes off today.”
It was a simple sentence.
But it hit like a punch.
Cast comes off today.
Four to six weeks, the doctor had said.
And that meant—
Theend.
The end of the deal.
The end of her here. Of Honey climbing onto her lap, of the light she brought into every cold corner of my apartment.
I swallowed hard and forced a small nod. “That’s good.”
It sounded wrong, too stiff, too flat. Like I was saying goodbye already.
She smiled faintly, small and polite, and looked away. I could see it, the way her shoulders tensed, like she knew too. Like she could feel the clock ticking down.
“I’ll take you,” I said before my mind could catch up.
Her head snapped up. “W-what?”
“I’ll drive you,” I repeated, forcing my tone even. “It’s a long trip to the hospital, and the bus will be packed this time of day. Save your Uber money.”
She hesitated, eyes searching mine, probably wondering if she should say no.
I didn’t blame her.
But then she nodded once. And that small nod was enough to make my chest ache.
I gestured toward the door. “Let’s go.”
She followed, and we stepped out into the cold.
