“How bad is it?” she asked. “Not bad,” he said, and smiled, but she saw his fingers tighten around the coffee cup. Her hair began to fall out slowly, strands caught between her fingers or left on the pillow in the mornings.
She’d brush it away before he came in, but he noticed anyway. One evening, she caught her reflection in the window — pale, fragile, her scalp showing through uneven tufts. The sight made her throat tighten. Evan appeared behind her then, setting down a cup of tea, and saw what she saw.