She closed her eyes and tried to reconstruct the conversation.
The sofa.
The lowered television.
His wrist beneath her fingers.
The question about whether he had missed her.
Then—
Nothing.
Not a blank stretch of time. Something worse. The sense of a door she had reached but could not open, a moment just beyond the edge of memory.
Her phone vibrated again.
Destiny snatched it up.
For one wild second, she expected another message from Conrad.
There was nothing.
No explanation. No correction. No reassurance.
Only the last words he had sent, glowing against the dark:
What you told me about being afraid.
She read them until the letters blurred.
She had been afraid. She knew that. Afraid he would not wake up. Afraid he would wake up changed. Afraid she would look at him and feel nothing—or feel something she could not trust.
But had she told him that?
She searched harder.
The memory shifted.
Conrad's hand was on her cheek.
His mouth was close to hers.
