“You lived,” I whispered.
The woman in the mirror looked uncertain.
So I said it again.
“You lived.”
A knock sounded.
I pulled my robe closed. “Come in.”
Mark entered holding two paper cups.
Then he saw my face and stopped.
“I can come back.”
“No.”
He waited.
I hated how good he was at waiting.
“I looked at the scar,” I said.
His expression softened.
“Ah.”
“Ah?”
“The first time is usually a war.”
“You sound experienced.”
“Anna had a port scar she called her second mouth because everyone kept trying to speak through it.”
A laugh broke through my tears.
“That’s horrible.”
“She was very funny.”
“She sounds like it.”
He handed me a cup.
“Tea. No vending machines were harmed.”
I took it.
We sat by the window while the fountain threw silver threads into the cold air outside.
“Can I ask you something?” I said.
“Yes.”
“Why were you really in that shared room?”
He looked out the window.
“I told you. Private rooms are too quiet.”
“That was true. Not complete.”
A long pause.
Then he nodded.
“I was there for a biopsy.”
My heart clenched.
“Mark.”
“It was benign.”
I exhaled.
“You could’ve led with that.”
“I didn’t want the dramatic gasp.”
“You absolutely deserve the dramatic gasp.”
His mouth curved.
“For a few weeks, I thought I might be following Anna.”
The room shifted around us.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“It made me realize something humiliating.”
“What?”
“I have spent years building places for people to heal, but I have not built a life for myself.”
The tea warmed my palms.
“What kind of life do you want?”
