She smiled.
“Told you.”
Nicholas looked out the window.
“Thank you.”
Hannah pretended not to hear.
He noticed.
Two years after the engagement-party incident, Nicholas no longer needed full-time nursing.
That should have been good news.
Hannah stood in the library holding her revised schedule.
“Three days a week.”
Nicholas stared.
“You're quitting.”
“No.”
“Three days.”
“Yes.”
“That is quitting four days.”
She laughed.
“You no longer need continuous private nursing.”
“That seems subjective.”
“It isn't.”
“I could deteriorate.”
“Then call me.”
“You live forty minutes away.”
“Thirty-two without traffic.”
Nicholas frowned.
Hannah continued:
“You've improved.”
“You manage most medication independently.”
“Walter handles appointments.”
“You have an aide for transfers when necessary.”
“You don't need me here every day.”
Nicholas looked down.
The feeling surprised him.
Abandonment.
Again.
He hated himself for it.
Hannah saw.
Her expression softened.
“I’m not disappearing.”
Nicholas looked up.
“Everyone says that.”
She understood the sentence was not really about her.
So she moved closer.
“What do you need me to say?”
Nicholas almost answered:
Stay.
Instead:
“Nothing.”
Hannah nodded.
“Okay.”
She began leaving.
Nicholas called:
“Hannah.”
She turned.
“When you’re not working…”
He stopped.
She waited.
“Would you have dinner with me?”
Her face changed.
“Dinner?”
“Yes.”
“As what?”
Nicholas stared.
“Two people eating food.”
“That is suspiciously vague.”
“Do you want a contract?”
She smiled.
“No.”
“Then Friday.”
“Friday.”
She walked out.
Nicholas sat alone.
Then looked toward the crooked paper crane on his desk.
For the first time in years, the future did not feel like something happening without his permission.
Friday dinner became another.
Then another.
Slow.
Careful.
Hannah refused anything that blurred medical boundaries until she officially ended private nursing employment.
Nicholas respected that.
Mostly.
He complained.
Constantly.
But respected it.
Months later, Hannah sat across from him in a quiet restaurant overlooking the lake.
No entourage.
No photographers.
Nicholas asked:
“Do you still think I'm difficult?”
“Yes.”
He laughed.
“Everyone else fears me.”
“I know.”
“You don't.”
“I’ve seen you stuck halfway into compression socks.”
Nicholas closed his eyes.
“You promised never to mention that.”
“I promised nothing.”
He laughed harder.
People stared.
He did not care.
Hannah reached across the table.
Placed her hand over his.
Nicholas went quiet.
She asked:
“What?”
He looked at their hands.
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
He looked up.
“I forgot this could feel normal.”
Hannah squeezed his hand.
“It is normal.”
Nicholas looked toward the lake.
For years he had believed his accident had divided his life.
Before.
After.
Standing.
Sitting.
Powerful.