“I’m sorry things ended the way they did.” Claire’s voice was a barely a whisper, her gaze fixed on her task at patching up the wound on your lower abdomen.

The room was suffused with the weight of unspoken memories of stolen kisses and whispered promises hanging in the air like a delicate thread. Claire’s touch as she tended to your wound was gentle and careful, her fingers tracing patterns on your skin, lingering for a moment longer than necessary.