He started saying things like “I’ll try to stop by tomorrow” instead of “I’ll be there.” When she said she missed him, he smiled but didn’t reply. Sometimes, when she called in the evenings, she’d hear the faint hum of conversation behind him — laughter, a clink of glass — before he quickly said, “I can’t talk right now, I’ll call you later.”
When she told him about the dreams she’d been having — the ones where she was healthy again, walking through the park with him — he’d nod and say, “That sounds nice,” as if listening to a story about someone else’s life.