Vanessa’s head snapped down, her eyes narrowing. “Oh, how touching. The hired help pities the fallen king.”

Clara lowered her head, dark hair falling across her face — an instinct drilled into anyone who works for people like this. But she didn’t retreat. She stayed on her knees beside my wheel.

I looked at her hand resting on the edge of my blanket. It was steady. It was brave.

In that small stillness, the last month came back to me all at once: every evening she’d brought my “pain medication” on schedule without being asked.

Every time she’d spoken to me as a person rather than a patient. The careful, contained fear in her posture whenever Vanessa entered the room.

And the whole thing finally clicked into place.