Rory's curls had a mind of their own in the autumn humidity, spiraling into wild black loops that caught the morning light. She tucked one particularly rebellious strand behind her ear as she navigated the hospital parking garage, stealing glances at Jim in the passenger seat. These weekly drives to St. Vincent's had become their own kind of ritual – comfortable silence punctuated by careful conversation, both of them dancing around the elephant in the room. Or rather, the heart in his chest.
"Ready?" she asked, killing the engine. The question had become their touchstone, a moment to breathe before facing another checkup.
Jim's smile was crooked, nothing like Sam's careful diplomacy. "As I'll ever be. You know, you don't have to keep chauffeuring me around. I could take a cab."
"Right,
