After burying my wife, I finally unlocked the barn she had never allowed me to enter. For 37 years, it had been sealed off, a place she insisted held nothing but old tools and useless clutter. I expected dust, silence, and memories long forgotten.

The hospital became my second home for the next two weeks. Every day, I sat beside Brian’s bed. Every night, I went home alone, wondering how I was going to keep him safe.

Brian was healing slowly. The doctors said he was doing well, considering the fall, but I could see the pain in his face every time he moved, every time he took a deep breath, every time he tried to sit up.

Nurse Parker was kind to him. She checked on him every few hours, made sure he was comfortable, brought him extra pillows when he needed them. She reminded me of Brenda. Gentle. Patient. The kind of person who made you feel like everything was going to be okay, even when it was not.

One afternoon, I was sitting in the chair beside Brian’s bed when he said something that caught me off guard.

“Paul,” he said quietly, “maybe I should leave after I get out of here. Maybe it would be better if I just went back to Millbrook.”

I looked up at him.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because I am causing too much trouble,” he said. “Dennis is doing all of this because of me. The rumors, the sabotage, the ladder. If I were not here, none of this would be happening.”

“Dennis is the one causing trouble,” I said firmly. “Not you.”