She remembered the sound of her own breathing—fast, shallow—like she’d been running even while standing still. And she remembered that single frozen frame burned into her mind: Marcus half-standing. Arm stretched out. Like a man waking up just long enough to protect a secret. By the time she reached her office chair, her hands had stopped shaking.
That was almost worse. Because the tremble had been fear. What replaced it felt cleaner. Colder. Sharper. Rage. It came in flashes, like a slideshow she couldn’t turn off. Her hands lifting him from bed to chair, careful not to jolt his spine. Her back aching as she held his weight and told herself love meant endurance.