Page 240 of Taken Away

Showing her without words that some part of him had already chosen her, even if another part was still afraid of what that meant.

Later, Aubrey fell asleep with her cheek against his chest.

Bennett stayed awake.

He listened to her breathing until it steadied. Listened to Moose shift once in the hall and settle again. Listened to the house creak softly around them.

Aubrey’s hand rested over his heart.

Bennett looked down at her.

He thought of her sitting in school offices. Waiting at windows. Learning not to expect anyone to come.

His arm tightened around her before he could stop it.

She stirred but did not wake.

“I’m here,” he whispered.

The words were for her.

Maybe for himself too.

A long time passed before he carefully slipped from beneath her.

He pulled the blanket over her shoulder and stood beside the bed, watching until he was sure she was still asleep.

Then he left the room.

The hallway was dark except for the thin spill of moonlight from the kitchen window.

Claire’s photograph hung where it always had.

Bennett stopped in front of it.

She was laughing in the picture.

Head tipped back. Hair loose around her shoulders. One hand lifted like she was trying to wave him away from the camera.

He had taken that photograph on a Sunday afternoon in October.

Before the diagnosis.

Before the long months of measuring hope in test results, pain medication, and whether she could keep soup down.

Before the ring on his finger became less a symbol of marriage and more a punishment he had never been brave enough to name.

Bennett looked down.

His thumb found the band by habit.

He twisted it once.

The skin beneath it was pale from years without sunlight.

He thought of the barrel room.

The sound behind the racks.