He tried to clear his mind as he washed, concentrating only on the mechanics of rubbing the dishes with the sponge, rinsing, and rubbing again. Anxiety filled his throat like acid, made his stomach heave like he was going to be sick. His face felt hot, tears lurking just behind his eyes. The last dish went into the drainer a little harder than he’d meant. For a moment, he stood still, eyes closed, breathing deeply. Then he wiped his hands off on his slacks and turned toward the living room.
She was curled up on the couch, lit by a warm yellow glow from the lamps on the side tables.
“Wyatt?” She looked up at him when he entered. “Are you angry at me?”
“No, I ... no.” Wyatt sat beside her on the couch. “We just need to be more careful to make sure you get your medication, okay? You can’t
