She hated that he had to see her like this, that the laughter they used to share had been replaced by sterile routines and small talk. She wanted to make it easier for him, to pretend she was stronger than she felt.
But the cracks were forming, fine lines beneath the surface that neither of them wanted to name. One afternoon, he came in dressed for a meeting. His hair was neatly combed, his tie straight. He looked like the version of him she remembered from before the hospital, and for a fleeting second she felt jealous of whoever would get to sit across from that man today.