The phrase hit me strangely.
For two years, Ryan had been exceptional in my mind. Exceptionally intelligent. Exceptionally ambitious. Exceptionally stressed. Exceptionally hard to love well because his world demanded so much.
Now strangers were putting him in a category.
Men like your husband.
It made me nauseous.
It also made me less alone.
Ryan arrived at noon with flowers.
Of course he did.
White roses in a glass vase large enough to require two hands. A hospital volunteer wheeled them in first, smiling uncertainly. Ryan followed in a charcoal overcoat, freshly shaved, hair perfect, eyes tired in the way powerful men learn to make useful.
Daniel stood immediately.
Eli was by the window holding a paper cup of coffee.
Priya sat in the chair beside my bed, reviewing documents.
Ryan looked at the room and understood he had miscalculated.
“Claire,” he said carefully. “Can we have a minute alone?”
