He stays in place with his hand around mine, waiting with me for the room to stop spinning.
Outside, a cart rattles past. Someone calls for a nurse. Somewhere down the hall a phone starts ringing.
Life goes on.
Even if mine has cracked in half.
nine
Three Weeks Later
Ikeepexpectingthiswhole situation to fall apart.
Somehow, it hasn’t.
Hope’s shoes sit by the door where she left them, toes angled toward the hallway instead of lined up against the wall. A glass rests on the counter with a faint tinge of lip gloss on the rim. The scent of vanilla and citrus floats through the air.
My formerly stale living space is filled with dozens of examples of her presence, and I relish everyone.
I don’t ever want her to leave.
Three weeks ago I stood a few feet away from her and couldn’t get a sentence out. Now I hear her moving in the next room while I work and it’s normal in a way I don’t question.
She’s stronger. I see it in how she crosses the room without reaching for anything to keep her balance. The first days she moved carefully, testing each step before committing to it. Now she forgets and just walks.
The random headaches still come. I catch the shift when her hand moves to her temple and her shoulders go still. I don’t ask questions. I keep an eye on her until it passes.
Work stays open on my laptop. I answer what can’t wait. The rest stacks up.
She keeps her music playlist low during the day. An eclectic mix of everything from Beethoven to Taylor Swift to Teddy Swims. Sometimes she sings along. I recognize the songs now without asking. They’ve repeated often enough to have settled into memory.
At night I read to her for entertainment since screen time is off limits for now. She lies back with her eyes closed, feet stretched across my lap. I don’t question it. My hand settles at her ankle, my thumb moving slow, steady to keep her relaxed.
Tonight we finish three chapters.
“I have good news.” I close the book and place it on the table. “Everything cleared. Work handled it. Your medical bills are covered.”
“Wow.” Her eyes open slowly, adjusting. “Thank you. My guardian angel. I’m not sure how to make this up to you.”
I shake my head. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“I do.” She watches me, eyes narrowing slightly, almost as if she’s searching for something hidden.
My heart hammers against my ribs. Because I’m hopelessly in love with her. I hate what happened to Hope, but somehow I know her being with me is fate.
“No, I like having you here.” The confession escapes before I can swallow it back. “You’re thebestthing that’s ever happened to me.”
Her expression softens, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. “I can’t believe you tried to talk to me before all this happened and I blew you off.”
“Yeah.” I’ve told her the entire story of the day she was attacked many times to try to jog her memory.
She exhales a frustrated sigh. “I don’t remember anything. My therapist says it’s my body’s natural way of protecting me so I can heal.”
“You will eventually.” I dig my thumb into her arch. “It was traumatic.”
I know she’ll eventually remember her attack. As for me? I was nothing but another face in the crowd.
“It bugs me.” She closes her eyes. “You came up to me and I missed it.”
