“So were you.”

“Yes,” she said softly. “But I was used to hiding it.”

That sentence settled between us like a stone.

After dinner I organized her medications on the coffee table. She corrected me twice, gently but firmly, and for a moment the rhythm between us felt familiar enough to be dangerous.

At nine I made tea while she dozed on the couch. Her phone buzzed — once, twice, then again. I glanced over only because the sound kept repeating. Three missed calls from Lena.

Then a message appeared on the screen.