Christine’s POV
The café is tucked into the edge of a sleepy street where the trees lean over the pavement like they’re trying to listen in on passing conversations, and the windows are streaked with late afternoon light that softens everything it touches, the chipped wooden tables, the faded menus, the quiet faces of strangers who sit alone with their thoughts and their coffee. I chose this place carefully, not for the charm or the quiet, but for the distance, for the way it sits outside the rhythm of our usual lives, far enough from the hospital that no one would think to look for us here, far enough that we can speak without glancing over our shoulders every few seconds.
Jonathan arrives just after four, his coat unbuttoned, his face unreadable, and when he steps inside, he doesn’t sc
