I stood and offered my hand.
“Where’s your chair?”
“In the hall. It wouldn’t fit.”
“How did you get onto the bed?”
“Carefully.”
“Meaning?”
“I walked three steps.”
“Alone?”
He looked away.
“Noah.”
“I held the desk.”
“You could have fallen.”
“I didn’t.”
“That is not the standard.”
His face closed.
I stopped.
The therapist’s warning returned.
Support without control.
Ask what he needed.
Do not convert fear into authority.
“I’m frightened,” I said.
His gaze came back.
“That is why I sound angry.”
“I know.”
“I need you to tell me before you walk without support.”
“I need to know whether I can.”
“Then call me. I’ll stand nearby and keep my hands off unless you ask.”
He considered.
“All right.”
I squeezed his fingers.
