He opened his mouth. Closed it. His jaw worked.
“Liv, I swear to you. He didn’t say anything.”
The nurse came in quietly and told us visiting hours were over. Brendon pulled on his jacket, said to call him if anything changed, and left.
I turned back to Andrew.
The room was so quiet I could hear the clock above the door. I sat beside my son and stroked his arm and talked to him in a low voice about nothing in particular, the way you talk to someone you need to still be there.
The Note I Found Crumpled in His Fist
That was when I noticed his hand.
His right hand was curled into a loose fist against the sheet. I had assumed it was muscle tension — the kind of involuntary response that happens in a body that is working hard to stay in the world. But something made me look more carefully. Something small and white was visible between his fingers.
