“Why’re you here?”
“Because I care about you.”
“Family?”
The word nearly undid me.
“Not by blood.”
His eye closed.
“Then what?”
I could not lie.
“I’m your partner.”
His eye opened again.
Confusion deepened.
“Business?”
“No.”
The silence grew.
I forced myself to say it plainly.
“We live together. We’ve been in a relationship for five years.”
He stared at me.
“No.”
The word was softer this time.
“I know you don’t remember.”
“No.”
“It’s all right.”
“No, it’s not.”
His voice sharpened with pain. He tried to shift and gasped.
I moved instinctively toward him.
He flinched.
I stopped.
That single recoil hurt more than anything the doctors had said.
“I won’t touch you,” I said.
He turned his face toward the wall.
