I entered Elena’s room.
She was sitting upright.
“You look terrible,” she said.
“So do you.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“That was almost honest.”
“I’m practicing.”
I sat beside her.
“We have a problem.”
“Only one?”
“Several.”
“That’s more familiar.”
I told her everything.
Daniel’s call.
The threat.
The false visits.
The clinic.
The hospital chart entry.
Gabriel.
Peter Vale.
Our schedules.
I did not protect her from the truth.
It was harder than I expected.
Not because she was fragile.
Because I was afraid of how she would react.
When I finished, Elena stared at her blanket.
“Someone arranged for us to meet.”
“Maybe.”
“Luke.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t have to soften it.”
I nodded.
“Someone probably arranged for us to meet.”
She was quiet for a long time.
Then she asked, “Do you regret it?”
The question startled me.
“What?”
“Meeting me.”
“Elena.”
“Answer.”
“No.”
The word came so quickly it almost overlapped her question.
Her eyes lifted.
“I regret the last three months,” I said. “I regret the divorce. I regret every phone call you made that I didn’t know about.”
My voice tightened.
“But I do not regret meeting you.”
She watched me.
“I don’t care if someone moved my name on a calendar,” I continued. “They didn’t make me go back to the gallery the next week.”
Her lips parted.
“They didn’t make me wait outside your work with coffee.”
“You got my order wrong.”
“For three weeks.”
“You kept buying cappuccino.”
“It sounded elegant.”
“I drink black coffee.”
“I know that now.”
A tear appeared in her eye.
This time, she didn’t wipe it away.
“They didn’t make me love you,” I said.
The room became very still.
For ninety-three days, I had carried the lie.
I don’t love you anymore.
I had built an entire catastrophe around those words.
Now the truth felt almost frightening in its simplicity.
“I never stopped.”
Elena looked down.
I waited.
No defense.
No explanation.
No strategy.
Just truth.
“I don’t know what to do with that,” she whispered.
“You don’t have to do anything.”
“Luke.”
“I mean it.”
She gave me a skeptical look.
“You are physically incapable of saying something without a desired outcome.”
“Apparently not.”
“What do you want?”
“You safe.”
“That’s an outcome.”
I sighed.
“The baby safe.”
“Another.”
“Fine.”
I leaned closer.
“I want you to forgive me.”
Her face softened.
“But I know you may not.”
I forced myself to continue.
“And I want to come home with you someday.”
Her breathing changed.
“But only if you ask me.”
For a long moment, she simply stared.
Then Elena reached for my hand.
This time, I did not hesitate.
“I can’t forgive you tonight,” she said.
“I know.”
“I may still be angry tomorrow.”
“You probably will be.”
“I am definitely going to be.”
“Fair.”
“But I don’t want you to disappear.”
“I won’t.”
“And I want you at the appointments.”
Something inside my chest broke open.
“The baby’s appointments?”
She rolled her eyes, but she was crying.
“No, Luke. My dental appointments.”
I laughed.
Actually laughed.
The sound surprised both of us.
“Yes,” I said. “I want to be there.”
“You’ll complain about the waiting room.”
“I will not.”
“You hate magazines from last year.”
“They’re insulting.”
“Luke.”
“I’ll behave.”
She looked at me.
“That might be harder to believe than the secret medical clinic.”
I squeezed her hand.
For the first time since the phone rang at 10:03, the fear inside me loosened.
Not disappeared.
Loosened.
A nurse entered with a tray.
Elena made a face.
“What is that?”
“Broth.”
“It looks tired.”
The nurse smiled.
“It has had a long evening.”
I liked her immediately.
Elena managed half the broth.
Three crackers.
Two spoonfuls of applesauce.
I watched every bite.
She eventually glared at me.
“Stop counting.”
“I’m not.”
“You looked offended when I stopped at the second cracker.”
“I was thinking about taxes.”
“Luke.”
“Fine.”
I looked away.
She ate the third cracker.
I pretended not to notice.
Later, after Marco had arranged for Caleb to monitor the floor and Dr. Bennett confirmed Elena was stable, the room grew quiet.
Elena fell asleep.
I stayed.
Not beside the window.
Not in the hall.
In the chair next to her bed.
Around four in the morning, Marco came in.
He placed a coffee beside me.
“Black.”
“You remembered.”
“I’ve known you nineteen years.”
“Elena says I don’t trust people.”
Marco sat by the window.
“She’s smart.”
“I trust you.”
“Sometimes.”
The word made me look up.
Marco stared into his coffee.
“I’m sorry.”
He frowned.
“For what?”
“Your brother.”
“You didn’t hide him.”
“My father did.”
“Maybe.”
