I inhaled sharply, and the pain punished me for it. Clara lifted a straw to my lips. “Small sip.” The water tasted like mercy. I swallowed and tried again. “Did they get it?” She glanced toward the door. “The surgeon will explain everything, but yes. The procedure went better than expected.” I closed my eyes. Better than expected. Not perfect. Not miraculous. But enough. Enough to keep breathing. Enough to remember. Evan. His text came back like a blade sliding between my ribs. We’re getting a divorce, Jessica. I don’t need the burden of a sick wife. The pain in my body suddenly seemed honest. The pain from Evan was dirty. Cowardly. It had no right to exist inside a hospital room where people fought so hard to stay alive. Then another memory surfaced. Mark. The chair by my bed. His calm voice. The trash in your life has finally taken itself out. My insane joke. If I survive this, maybe we should just get married and call it a day. His answer. Okay. My eyes opened. “Mark,” I whispered.

His stillness changed.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because wanting to and having the right to are different things.”

My heart began to pound.

“And if I gave you the right?”

His breath caught.

It was small. Almost invisible.

But I saw it.

“Jessica.”

“I’m not asking for marriage. I’m not asking for forever. I’m asking whether you’re standing at a distance because you don’t want me, or because you’re afraid wanting me makes you like him.”

Something flickered across his face.

Pain. Recognition.

Then he crossed the room slowly, giving me every chance to stop him.

I didn’t.

He knelt in front of my chair so I would not have to tilt my healing body upward. His hand rose, paused near my cheek, and waited.

I leaned into it.

His palm was warm.

When he kissed me, it was gentle.

Not cautious in a cold way. Cautious like reverence. Like he knew exactly how much damage careless hands could do.

I had expected fireworks, maybe. Something dramatic enough to match the madness that had brought us here.

Instead, I felt peace.

A quiet, astonishing peace.

As if some locked room inside me had opened and fresh air had entered.

When he pulled back, his eyes searched mine.

I smiled.

“That was very decent of you, Mark Grant.”

His laugh was low and surprised.

“I aim to be consistent.”

Spring came slowly.