He was beautiful in a way that irritated me that morning.
Strong. Whole. Capable of walking from one room to another without calculating the distance. Able to lift a crate, drive through traffic, read an entire page without losing the first paragraph by the time he reached the last.
Able to love me without seeming to resent what loving me required.
That was the worst part.
If he had complained, I could have defended myself.
If he had grown impatient, I could have hated him for it.
Instead, Reid learned medication schedules. He changed the handrail. He remembered which light hurt my head and which shirt was easiest to pull over my recovering shoulder. He sat awake after nightmares and never asked me to become easier before morning.
I left the bedroom before gratitude turned into shame.
The apartment was blue with early light. I made tea because Dr. Whitcomb still objected to caffeine, and because decaffeinated coffee had begun to feel like an elaborate insult.
I stood at the harbor window holding the mug in both hands.
Below, Callahan Marine Works waited behind closed roller doors. The yard looked peaceful before people arrived. Boats rested on stands, hulls pale in the security lights. Mercy sat near the south wall beneath her canvas cover. Rain had collected in silver lines along the concrete.
A month ago, being downstairs for an hour had felt like triumph.
Now it felt like being allowed to visit my own life under supervision.
I knew that thought was unfair.
I was walking more. Working more. Remembering more. I had crossed the workshop without the chair the previous Friday. I had attended a crowded lunch and recognized when I needed to leave. I had survived remembering the accident.
Progress existed.
It simply never seemed to exist at the speed I wanted.
A floorboard creaked behind me.
I did not turn.
Reid came close enough that heat reached my back before his hand did. His palm slid slowly between my shoulder blades.
“I woke up alone.”
His voice was rough with sleep.
“Sorry.”
“Head?”
“Yes.”
“How bad?”
“Three.”
“Medication?”
“Already taken.”
His hand moved higher, fingers resting at the base of my neck.
