Henry’s eyes were wet now, and he didn’t bother to wipe them. He kept pacing, the asphalt hard under his feet, arms still wrapped around himself. Soren stayed against the truck, cigarette smoke curling into the night, quiet but present.
“No one could have named it,” Soren said finally, voice low. “Not back then. Doesn’t mean it didn’t matter.”
Henry stopped mid-step, staring at the waves crashing beyond the lot. “I keep thinking about her. About how she might feel when she wakes up. What if she thinks… I didn’t stay? That I didn’t care enough to be there?”
Soren pushed off the truck, taking a slow drag of his cigarette. He looked at Henry, steady. “Then we make sure she knows. Whatever it takes. However long it takes.”
Henry’s chest rose and fell unevenly. He wanted to believe it, but
