“Keep going.”
I read until my vision blurred.
By the following morning, his fatigue had eased.
Two days later, he asked to use the wheelchair again.
Priya brought one after therapy.
“You can go to the family lounge,” she said. “Ten minutes.”
“Outside,” Noah replied.
“That depends on the light.”
“Cloudy.”
Priya looked at me. “You checked?”
“I always check.”
Noah’s mouth curved.
They helped him into the chair.
I supported his left arm, adjusted the pelvic cushion, and tucked a blanket around his legs.
“No racing,” Priya said.
“I’m an excellent driver,” I told her.
Noah glanced up at me. “I’ve seen your van.”
For half a second, my heart stopped.
Then I realized he meant a photograph.
Priya saw the change in my face.
Noah did too.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You thought I remembered.”
I could not lie.
“Yes.”
His gaze lowered.
“Sorry.”
“Stop.”
He looked up.
