Betrayal doesn’t hurt because it comes from strangers.
It hurts because it comes from the people who know exactly where to break you.
The next morning, I walked into the kitchen pretending nothing had happened.
Margaret Whitmore was sitting at the table drinking coffee.
She smiled politely.
“Did Alexander sleep well?”
I smiled back.
“Yes. He seemed better than expected.”
For a split second, her expression changed.
It was barely noticeable.
But I saw it.
Fear.
Then it disappeared.
“Oh, dear,” she said softly. “Don’t get your hopes up. Some improvements are just temporary.”
I looked at her carefully.
“Temporary?”
She nodded.
“People in his condition often imagine they’re improving before reality catches up.”
Those words stayed in my mind.
Because she didn’t sound like a mother hoping for her son’s recovery.
She sounded like someone hoping he would stop trying.
Later that afternoon, Ryan came into Alexander’s room without knocking.
He immediately looked at me.
“What are you doing here?”
I smiled.
“I’m his caregiver.”
Ryan stared at me.
“No, I mean why are you still in this room?”
The way he said it made my skin crawl.
“I was helping Alexander with his exercises.”
Ryan looked at his brother.
Then at me.
“Exercises?”
Alexander stayed silent.
