The elevator dings.
I step inside, wheeling the cart in like I belong here.
Like this is my job.
Like I’m just another invisible part of the background.
My reflection stares back at me in the mirrored walls.
Different.
Changed.
But still me.
Still the man she connected with.
Still the one who saw her first.
Loved her first.
Understood her first.
Not that bastard cowboy.
Never him.
The doors open.
My pulse picks up, a slow, steady drumbeat that builds with every step I take down the hallway.
Closer.
Closer.
CLOSER.
I stop outside their door.
Their door.
The thought makes something dark twist in my gut.
Not for long.
I straighten the tray.
Knock.
Once.
Inside, I hear movement.
Footsteps.
Him.
“Just a second,” his voice calls out, distracted.
