Page 69 of Seven Minutes
“Hey,” I murmured, my voice rough from not having used it all night.
“Hey,” he whispered back, his lips barely moving.
Eli shifted, and I felt the tremor ripple through his thigh. My first instinct was to steady him, to help—but I stopped myself. He hated that. I knew he did. So I stayed still, muscles taut, every nerve screaming at me todo something.
“You slept through the night,” I said instead. “That’s progress.”
He gave me a small nod, eyes half-closed, the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth. “Did you?”
“Not really.”
His brow creased slightly. “You could’ve moved.”
“Didn’t want to.”
Because we’d found each other in our sleep. A gravitational pull like muscle memory. And I’d bet his body was the comfort I needed to stay asleep once I’d finally closed my eyes.
He let his head fall back against my shoulder. It wasn’t an invitation or forgiveness, just... contact. Enough to make me forget how long it had been since I’d felt him like this.
I said nothing because I didn’t want to ruin it with words. I just let my thumb trace slow circles over the back of his hand until I felt his breathing even out.
And when his eyes finally closed again, I leaned forward and whispered against his hair, “I’m not going anywhere.”
I wasn’t going to convince him with words or promises. It would take time, action, and follow-through. I had my work cut out if I was going to show my husband I was still madly, blindly in love. If I was going to prove to him I was still someone he could depend on and trust with dreams of our future.
For the firsttime in weeks, Eli woke up looking… almost himself. Color in his face, humor in his voice. The swelling around his eyes had gone down, and when he stretched, it was with a soft groan instead of a wince. I couldn’t help smiling.
“Feeling human again?” I asked.
He tilted his head, lips twitching. “Define human.”
“You’re not cursing at me for breathing too loud, so that’s progress.”
He snorted, and the sound loosened something in my chestI hadn’t realized had been wound tight. It felt like sunlight shining through a crack in the blinds—small, but enough.
By noon, I decided we needed something normal. Something that wasn’t scheduled, timed, or monitored. “What do you say we take a break from recovery mode?” I asked.
Eli eyed me, suspicious but curious. “Like what?”
“Like ramen and a movie.”
His expression softened. “Ramen?”
“Yeah,” I said, already reaching for my keys. “The good kind. Not the instant stuff we lived on in college.”
That got a real laugh out of him. “You mean the kind that costs more than a buck twenty-nine a pack?”
“Exactly. And I’ll even let you pick the movie.”
He rolled his eyes but smiled, and that was enough for me.
By the timeI carried the takeout inside, Eli sat curled on the couch, the blanket over his lap. He’d prepared a spot for me beside him. I set the ramen cups down on the coffee table.
“You realize we used to live off this stuff?”
“We were broke,” he said.
“We were happy.”
