Three days later, Dorian saw Carys at a rehabilitation hospital on the west side of the city.
When the receptionist heard his name, she only said, "Ms. Whitcombe has declined visitors."
Dorian handed over his ID.
"I'm her husband."
The receptionist checked the computer and became even more polite.
"She hasn't authorized you to visit her."
Dorian's hand stopped on the counter.
Again.
He didn't leave.
He waited from morning until evening.
At almost 7 p.m., Rhys wheeled Carys out.
She sat in a wheelchair with a light-gray coat draped around her shoulders. She'd lost a lot of weight.
The hand that used to wear Dorian's ring rested empty on her knee.
Rhys bent down and handed her a cup.
She took a sip, choked, and trembled lightly.
Rhys crouched down at once and rubbed her back.
