“That’s not helpful.”
Emma shrugs.
“He knows I mean it affectionately.”
“I do,” I say.
Emma smiles faintly, then steps back again.
Alex clears his throat.
“We’ll give you two a minute.”
He and Emma leave quietly, the door closing behind them.
Christina pulls the chair closer to the bed and sits down.
Her hand never leaves mine.
For a while, neither of us speaks. The machines beside the bed continue their quiet work, indifferent to everything that changed last night. Morning light pushes weakly through the window behind her, catching in the loose strands of her hair and turning them gold.
I watch her.
Just enough to reassure myself she’s still here.
That she isn’t hurt.
That they didn’t take anything from her I can’t get back.
“If you want to leave,” I say.
The words come out before I’ve fully decided to say them.
She looks up.
“Leave?”
“Fellside.”
Her fingers still slightly around mine, but I feel the shift in her attention immediately.
“We could go somewhere else,” I continue. “Somewhere bigger. Somewhere people mind their own business.”
Her expression doesn’t change the way I expect it to. She doesn’t look relieved. She doesn’t look tempted.
She laughs.
It isn’t mocking.
It’s tired and fond and entirely herself.
“Phil,” she says gently, “if I moved every time someone had something to say about my heritage, I’d better invest in a caravan.”
I frown. “I’m serious.”
“I know.” She squeezes my hand slightly. “And I appreciate it.”
She leans back in the chair, studying me.