Chapter 51
Anna
“Come in,” I called when I heard the soft knock at the door.
Nancy stepped inside, already smiling. “Are you awake?” she signed.
“Yes—come in,” I said, sitting up straighter. I gestured toward the small bundle in her arms. “Can you give him here?”
She raised a brow. “No allergies yet?” she signed.
“None so far,” I replied.
She carefully placed the kitten on my lap. He was warm and impossibly small, curling into me as if he already belonged there.
“His name is Milo,” Nancy said.
I smiled, stroking his soft fur. “It suits him.”
Nancy’s hands moved again. “A delivery arrived for you. Flowers.”
“Really?” My eyes lit up instantly. “I want to see.”
“Let me help you,” she signed, already moving to assist me out of bed and into the wheelchair.
As we rolled into the kitchen, a flash of deep red caught my eye. A dozen roses stood on the counter, vibrant against the quiet room.
“I already put them in a vase for you,” Nancy signed as she reached for them.
I leaned in, “The card doesn't say from who.”
“Michael, maybe?” Nancy signed. “That’s his love language. He always brings you flowers.”
I shook my head slowly. “I think they’re from Ian this time.” I paused, choosing my words carefully. “No name… probably to avoid any communication being traced to us. The card only has my name.”
Nancy smiled.
As we rolled into the kitchen, a flash of deep red caught my eye. A dozen roses stood on the counter, vibrant against the quiet room.
“I already put them in a vase for you,” Nancy signed as she reached for them.
I leaned in, “The card doesn't say from who.”
“Michael, maybe?” Nancy signed. “That’s his love language. He always brings you flowers.”
I shook my head slowly. “I think they’re from Ian this time.” I paused. “No name… probably to avoid any communication being traced to us. The card only has my name.”
Nancy smiled.
I turned away, wheeling toward the dining area. “Can I have the kitten again?” I asked, holding out my hands.
She placed Milo gently onto my lap. He curled into me instantly, soft and warm.
A second later, my nose tingled.
I blinked, trying to ignore it—but the itch sharpened, sudden and relentless. I turned slightly, pressing my wrist to my nose. One sneeze followed another, sharp and uncontrollable.
“Allergies acting up again,” she signed. “Let me take him from you for a bit.”
Reluctantly, I let her lift Milo away. She left the dining room with him, the sound of my sneezing trailing behind her.
"Where's dad?"
Nancy signed, “He left early for work. He didn’t want to wake you.”
I nodded, staring at the light slipping through the curtains. “I miss my school kids,” I said softly, the words catching in my chest as I thought of them—of laughter, noise, life before everything became careful and slow.
Nancy watched me for a beat, then signed, why don’t we go out for a bit? Maybe a walk…or we could watch a movie.
“Are you not working today?” I asked.
She shook her head. I’m off for the rest of the week.
Relief washed over me. “Okay,” I said, managing a small smile. “Then let’s get ready.”
Nancy had the patience of a saint with me.
She never rushed me, never complained, even when I lingered too long or needed a moment longer than usual.
After the movie, we wandered through a few stores, had a late lunch that turned into dessert, and laughed more than I expected we would.
For a few hours, life almost felt normal again.
Then I spotted a stationery store.
“Let’s go in there,” I said, already turning my wheelchair toward it.
Inside, I moved between shelves without purpose—cards, notebooks, pens—until something caught my eye. A fountain pen. Elegant. Timeless. The kind of thing he would appreciate.
“Could I have this, please?” I asked the sales assistant.
Nancy glanced at me, already knowing. For Ian? she signed.
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Could you wrap it?” I asked softly.
When we stepped back outside, the sky had shifted. I checked the time and blinked. “It’s already five.”
Too late to cook. Too tired to try. We stopped at a café nearby and bought prepared meals instead. The moment I rolled inside, my eyes burned unexpectedly, tears threatening without warning. I swallowed them down.
“Maybe I should send the cat away while you’re here,” Nancy signed gently. Nora can look after him.
“It’s not necessary,” I said quickly. “I don’t want you to change everything because of me.”
Dad was already home when we returned. We set the table together, the three of us eating quietly. Afterward, we cleaned the kitchen, moving around one another with practiced ease.
That was when Zelda arrived.
She greeted everyone politely before her eyes settled on me. “Were you crying?” she asked.
I shook my head, forcing a small smile. “No. Cat allergies. My sister has a kitten.”
Zelda nodded in understanding. “Ah. That explains it.”
You don’t have to help Anna tonight, Nancy signed. I can help her.
Zelda shook her head kindly. “Dr. Collins would prefer me to do it,” she said. “It’s also the only way he knows how she’s really doing.”
I didn’t argue.
Before she helped me toward the bathroom, Zelda handed me a small paper bag. “This is for you.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“Dr. Collins said you might want something warm to sleep in tonight.”
My hands trembled as I pulled it out.
His shirt.
I pressed it to my face without thinking, breathing him in, memorising the scent like I was afraid it might disappear. Wordlessly, I handed Zelda the wrapped box.
“Please give this to him.”
After my bath, Zelda helped me slip into Ian’s shirt before she headed for the door. I called her name. She turned back.
“Tell Ian… thank you for the flowers.”
She nodded once. “I will.”