Neither of them moved.
Rain crawled down the hospital window, almost exactly as it had that night.
Ethan’s voice dropped.
“What happened to you?”
Hannah laughed once.
It contained no amusement.
“You don’t get to ask.”
“I found you unconscious with bruises on your body.”
“They’re old.”
“That isn’t reassuring.”
“Occupational accidents.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
He studied her face.
She looked away first.
Ethan’s voice became quieter.
“You were working in a packaging warehouse.”
“Yes.”
“You studied architecture.”
“Life changed.”
“You had a scholarship.”
“I lost it.”
“When?”
“Five years ago.”
His stomach tightened.
“Hannah.”
“Don’t.”
“Did what happened between us cause—”
“Your importance in my life ended five years ago.”
The sentence was precise.
Designed to wound.
It succeeded.
Ethan looked toward the medical chart.
“You listed no family.”
“I don’t have any.”
“Your mother?”
“Dead.”
He hadn’t known.
“I’m sorry.”
