He shifts his weight. Like he's testing his balance.
Then he lowers himself back into the wheelchair.
My brain can't process what I just saw.
Bruno can't walk. He's been paralyzed for two years.
Unless...
I push the door open.
It swings wide. Hits the wall with a soft thud.
Bruno's head snaps toward me. His eyes widen.
For a second, neither of us moves.
Then I laugh. A short, disbelieving sound.
"I thought—" I shake my head. "I thought you were standing."
Bruno's expression shifts. Hardens.
That look. The one that means I've crossed a line I didn't know existed.
"You thought wrong," he says flatly.
"But I saw?—"
"You saw me shifting in my chair." His voice is ice. "That's all."
I stare at him. At the wheelchair. At his legs.
"Bruno—"
"Why are you here?" He cuts me off. "Come to lecture me again? Tell me more about how I've ruined everyone's lives?"
The words sting. But I deserve them.
"No," I say quietly. "I came to apologize."
He scoffs. "For what? Telling the truth?"
"For how I said it." I step into the room. Close the door behind me. "You're my brother. I shouldn't have?—"
"Don't." He holds up a hand. "Don't do this. Don't pretend you care."
"I do care."
"Then why haven't you visited in weeks?" His jaw clenches. "Why haven't you called? Texted? Anything?"
Because I was angry. Because I was hurt.
Because it's easier to avoid him than deal with his cruelty.
But I don't say any of that.
"I'm sorry," I repeat. "I miss you."
