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“The nap?”

“Today.”

Reid smiled.

“Yes.”

“I want to see them again.”

“We will.”

“Not because of the accident.”

“No.”

“Because I like them.”

“I know.”

Upstairs, I went directly to the bathroom, then found Reid in the kitchen unpacking food.

The pear cake sat beneath a cloth.

Three jars occupied the counter.

“You brought half their pantry.”

“I tried to refuse.”

“Miriam is stronger than you.”

“Terrifying woman.”

I stood behind him.

For a moment, I simply watched.

Reid put bread away.

Checked the refrigerator.

Moved the blackberry jam from the counter to the pantry.

He was tired.

I saw it now.

Not dramatic exhaustion.

The small heaviness around his eyes. The way he rolled one shoulder after lifting the basket. The pause before deciding where something belonged.

I had spent weeks treating him as a permanent structure in my life.

A wall did not get tired.

A wall did not need reassurance.

A wall did not wake from dreams of losing someone.