“I can finish walking.”
“We’re seeing Rose.”
“That seems premature.”
Dani’s arms loosened. Worry showed beneath the anger.
“Do not do this.”
“Do what?”
“Turn an injury into a test of whether you’re serious enough.”
“I am not.”
“You hid it.”
“I monitored it.”
“You changed your gait.”
I looked down at my leg, as though the altered stride belonged to someone else.
“I adapted.”
“You lied.”
The accusation struck.
“I said nothing was wrong because the discomfort was not significant.”
“You knew what I meant.”
Her voice remained low. People moved around us, but the bench felt private. I aligned my fingers in my lap. She wasright. The same distinction she had used about her race history. Technically true. Intentionally incomplete.
“I should have said something,” I admitted.
“Yes.”
“I am sorry.”
Dani exhaled. The anger eased.
“Thank you.”
“I still believe we are overreacting.”
“Rose will decide.”
“She is your friend.”
“She is also a physical therapist.”
“She enjoys stopping people from running.”
“She enjoys keeping people able to run.”
Dani lifted my gym bag.
