Molly
I never thought I’d feel this safe in a hospital bed.
But I do.
Charles is sitting beside me with a bowl of porridge in one hand and a spoon in the other, looking far too serious for someone about to feed me like I’m five.
“Open,” he says quietly.
I roll my eyes, but I lean forward anyway and take the bite. It’s warm and bland and probably good for me, according to the doctor. I make a small face just to annoy him.
He notices.
His lips twitch.
God, I missed that expression. That almost-smile he tries to hide.
“You’re looking so lively this morning,” he says, watching me carefully.
I exhale slowly, letting my shoulders relax into the pillows. “I feel better.”
And I actually do.
Like the fog that had wrapped around my mind finally lifted.
I remember him…us…everything.
He
