The next morning dawned crisp and bright, but Ryan felt nothing of it. He woke early, not to greet the sun, but to check his father’s condition, pacing the silent corridors of the family home. Each day seemed heavier than the last. His mother had not left the hospital bed of his father since the news of his father’s declining health. The woman he had always believed unshakable, always poised, always untouchable—she had become fragile, soft, and nearly inconsolable.
Ryan had never known how to comfort her. Words failed him. Actions failed him. And yet, he remained. Because despite his fury, despite the frustration that gnawed at his chest, he could not walk away.
He had barely time to think about Anna in the morning, yet she was there. Always. In the empty hallways. In the papers left on
