Aiden POV
The morning she could finally walk on her own, I knew it was time.
I watched her shuffle from the bedroom into the kitchen in one of the oversized sweaters William must've given her—because it sure as hell wasn't mine. Her hair, though no longer matted with sweat, was still a tangled mess. Her skin, once ghostly and pale, was finally starting to take on a flush again. That goddamn flush. That reminder she was alive. That reminder I'd spent weeks nursing her, praying for her to pull through even when I wanted to strangle her for everything she had done.
Now she stood in front of me. Real. Breathing. And irritatingly, devastatingly… still beautiful.
"I'm feeling better," she mumbled.
I didn't respond right away. I stared into my coffee mug instead, not even drinking it—just pretending it mattered more than her existence.
"Good," I finally said flatly. "You're going to need your strength."
She blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"
