My eyes water as I am overcome with emotion at knowing that Dante was here, watching me as I slept. Something he has done since the moment we met. If he comes, it means he still cares, and if he still cares, there is a chance. For the first time in weeks, I allow myself to believe that what we had meant something to him, and my heart begins to fill with hope that maybe we could still be together. Maybe he could forgive me.

Sitting up, I pull away the blankets from my body and sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the glass. Too scared to move in case it disappears. I rub my eyes again and the glass remains, so I stand up and move slowly toward the chair, still scared that it may disappear in a moment, afraid that I am dreaming.

Leaning over, I grab it slowly and lift it to my nose, breathing in. The familiar scent of his favorite honey whiskey hits my nostrils, and I close my eyes, letting my mind and body feel at ease. The glass is still warm where his hands had gripped it, like he only just left. I gently place the glass back down like it is an artifact in a museum and look around the room to see if anything else is out of place. My medical file sits on the chair, and I pick it up to read what is on the open page. He must have read it.

I read through quickly, noticing it is my psych evaluation, the one that says I am perfectly normal, albeit a frightened woman who just needs stability in her life. It also refers to the lump in my breast and why I didn’t seek medical attention, the various reasons listed but with emphasis on not wanting to die the same way my mother did. I sigh and place the file back down before I look around the room to see if anything else is amiss.

Seeing everything else where it is supposed to be, I grab some clothes from the wardrobe and get changed. The small timber robe is empty except for my few t-shirts and jeans, once again reminding me that I am lacking. Closing the door, I go out to the kitchen to start my day with Nico, this time with a small spring in my step because of Dante.

“Good morning!” I say cheerfully to Nico as I walk into the kitchen. He looks up at me from the kitchen bench where he is again polishing his gun, just like he did yesterday.

“Well, you sound happy this morning?” He looks at me curiously.

“I am.” I grab a coffee and lean against the bench, watching him.

“Good night sleep, then?” he asks, before flicking his head toward the stress ball, reminding me to do my physio routine.