Dinner was over, and Lilia sat in the back seat of the car, watching the city lights flicker across the windows like restless thoughts.  

She hadn’t meant to speak, but the words slipped out before she could stop herself.  

“Saint Brigid Hospital,” she told the driver.  

He gave her a surprised glance through the mirror, but didn’t ask questions.  

The hum of the tires filled the silence, steady and too calm for the way her heart felt.  

She stared at the faint reflection of her face in the glass—controlled, composed, unreadable—and wondered when she had started lying to herself so easily.  

When she reached the hospital, the corridor lights were harsh and white. Every step echoed, as if reminding her she didn’t belong here.  

She pushed the door open quietly.  

Bix was awake, sitting on the bed, scrolling through his phone.  

He blinked, startled, as if she were the last person he expected to see.  

“I—uh, you here to peel an apple again?” he asked.  

It was half a joke, half a nervous reflex.  

Lilia froze for a second, then laughed despite herself.  

“Do you think being a patient means you can boss me around?”  

“Wouldn’t dare,” he said quickly, both hands up like surrender.  

The tension broke just enough for them to breathe.  

She sat down in the chair by his bed, this time without touching the fruit on the table.  

“I had dinner with a client today,” she said, her voice softer than usual.  

“I used you as an excuse to leave early. 

So… I figured I should actually come see you. Otherwise it’d feel dishonest.”  

Bix stared at her for a beat, then smiled.  

“Well, I guess I’m good for something after all.”  

They talked—about the accident, the insurance, the paperwork.  

He told her there was some compensation, enough to survive for a while.  

“At least I won’t starve,” he said with a crooked grin.  

Lilia shook her head, exasperated.  

“You really plan to keep doing deliveries?”  

“Yeah. Flexible hours. And hey—means I can still bring you coffee.”  

She couldn’t decide whether to laugh or sigh.  

It was such a ridiculous, honest thing to say.  

For a moment, she saw the simplicity in it—the kind of freedom her own life never allowed.  

Outside, the city lights dimmed one by one.  

In that quiet, sterile room, the only sound left was their breathing.  

She looked at him and realized:  

the excuse she’d given earlier—“I have to visit a friend”—  

had somehow become the truth.