He tried to rise.
I moved toward him.
He lifted one hand.
“No.”
I stopped.
He stood on his own.
The pole slipped against the tile, and he corrected it with a sharp movement that made his hip buckle.
His hand caught the table.
“Don’t call me vulnerable like I’m not here.”
Diane folded her arms.
“You have a brain injury. Someone needs to be sensible.”
“I am sensible.”
“You threw away your relationship with your family for him.”
“I don’t remember doing that.”
Her expression shifted toward triumph.
“But I believe I had reasons.”
The triumph vanished.
Noah’s breath became too fast.
I could see each inhale lifting his shoulders.
“Sit down,” I said softly.
“No.”
“Your head?”
“Fine.”
It wasn’t.
His right eyelid had begun to droop.
Diane picked up her handbag.
“This is pointless if you won’t listen. I drove six hours because my mortgage has fallen behind and your aunt refuses to help. I thought, after everything I did for you, you might at least—”
Noah stared.
There was no shock now.
Only a deep, exhausted understanding.
