I didn’t answer. I just watched him.
He gently wiped my hands, my feet, like he always did. Then he picked up fruit, peeled it carefully, and held it to my lips. “Here. Eat something first. You haven’t eaten since yesterday, right?”
I didn’t move.
He sighed softly. “Chloe, don’t be like this. You need to eat if you want to recover. Don’t make me worry, okay?”
He scooped up some soup, blew on it until it cooled, and brought it closer. “Just one bite. Come on.”
So gentle. So patient.
Just like before.
And that was the cruelest part.
Because I knew…
He’d do the same for her. No. Even more.
He’d always give Chiara the best portion first. “This one tastes better,” I once heard him say. “You should have this.”
He’d kneel beside her bed, pressing his ear to her stomach again and again. “In a few more months, you’ll feel the pup move,” he’d say, his voice full of excitement. “I can’t wait.”
He’d leave after I fell asleep. I knew. I didn’t need to see it before. But now I could.
I saw him slip into her room at night. I saw the way they looked at each other. The way his hands touched her. The marks they didn’t bother hiding anymore.
And during the day, he’d introduce her openly.