The plan was controlled.
Hospital staff would remain responsible for my safety.
I could stop at any moment.
I said yes.
I barely slept.
At 8:43 the next morning, Gregory arrived.
He carried flowers.
A leather folder.
And another stainless-steel thermos.
I was awake.
But I pretended to be drowsy.
“Morning, sweetheart.”
He kissed my forehead.
“How are we feeling?”
“We?”
I murmured.
He smiled.
“You know what I mean.”
A hospital-approved breakfast tray sat untouched.
Gregory glanced at it.
“You need real food.”
“The doctor said no outside food.”
“She’s being overcautious.”
He opened the thermos.
The smell of chicken and herbs filled the room.
My stomach turned.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You need strength.”
He poured broth into a cup.
Then he placed the leather folder beside me.
“I also need you to sign something.”
“What?”
“Nothing important.”
I almost laughed.
Nothing important was Gregory’s favorite description for documents that
