Something inside him shifted at the memory of her smile.
He was not used to people looking at him without suspicion.
Not used to someone offering help without expecting something in return.
Even when his mother had been alive, he had hidden most of his burdens from her. He would pretend to be strong so she would not worry. He carried exhaustion behind steady eyes and swallowed pain behind quiet reassurances. After she was gone, there had been no one left to protect from the truth. No one left to shield with lies of strength.
Until now.
The image of Viola setting the dishes in the sink earlier replayed in his mind. The soft clinking of porcelain. The faint sound of running water. The simple rhythm of someone moving comfortably inside a home.
Normal sounds.
They felt foreign to him.
