In the days that followed, I settled into a new rhythm, one that didn't quite belong to me, but that I chose anyway.
Sometimes I'd only manage fifteen minutes. A late meeting, a last-minute email, a delayed train. But I always went. Even when I was tired. Even when I didn't know what to say. I'd step into that room with the hum of monitors and the distant footsteps of nurses, and I'd see Edward—pale, thinner, but still himself—and he'd smile. And that would be enough.
At first, Mark barely acknowledged me.
He'd nod, sometimes.
Say nothing, mostly.
He gave no resistance to my visits, but no invitation either. Just silence. I learned to take it for what it was: a peace offering carved out of obligation. Not for me. For Edward.
