Ann heard the sound of approaching footsteps before the knock came. Slow. Measured. Familiar. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, hands folded neatly on her lap, staring at the pale wall opposite her. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and lavender, an odd attempt at calm that never quite worked. Her heart skipped once, then steadied. She inhaled deeply through her nose. Control your voice. Control your face. Control everything. The knock came again.
"Yes," she said, carefully. Plain. Neutral.
The door opened, and Oliver stepped in.
He looked just as he always did, well-dressed, composed, expensive cologne clinging faintly to him. But Ann noticed the details she once would have ignored: the tightness around his jaw, the way his eyes scanned the room before settling on her, the brief pause as though he were measuring the space. "Ann," he said softly, closing the door behind him. "Good afternoon babe."
"Good afternoon," she replied. He pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Ann could hear the distant hum of activity in the hallway, the faint squeak of a trolley wheel, muffled voices. Life going on, uninterrupted.
"How are you feeling today?" Oliver asked at last. Ann met his gaze. "The same."
His brows knitted together, concern carefully arranged across his face. "Still tired?"
"Yes." "Still having the nightmares?"
She hesitated, just enough to feel natural. "Yes." Oliver nodded slowly, as though ticking off items on a list. "The doctors say these things take time." "I know."
Another silence. Oliver shifted slightly in his chair, crossing one leg over the other, then uncrossing it. Ann noticed. She said nothing.
"Are you eating properly?" he asked. "And taking your medications?" "Yes," Ann answered. "I eat. I take them."
"That's good," he said quickly. Too quickly. "That's very good."
She watched him adjust the cuff of his sleeve, then rest his hands on his knees. His fingers tapped once. Stopped. Tapped again. "Oliver," she said gently.
He looked up. "Yes?" "How is the company doing?" The question hung between them.
Oliver's lips curved into a small, confident smile. "Everything is under control."
There it was. Ann felt it, a faint tightening in her chest. Under control. The words echoed strangely in her mind, carrying a weight they never had before. She kept her face smooth.
"That's good," she said. "I worry sometimes." "You don't need to," Oliver replied quickly. "Not at all. I've handled everything. Meetings, reports, the board, there's no cause for concern."
"I see," Ann said. Another silence followed. This one stretched longer, heavier. Oliver shifted again, leaning back slightly, then forward. His gaze flicked briefly to the door, then back to her. "Is there… anything you need?" he asked. Ann thought of Mary. Of Henry. Of the quiet, careful web she was beginning to spin. "No," she said. "Nothing at the moment." He nodded, though something unreadable passed through his eyes. A few seconds ticked by.
"Oliver," Ann said again. "Yes?"
"Why hasn't anyone come to visit me?"
The question was soft. Almost casual.
Oliver froze.
It was brief, so brief many people wouldn't have noticed but Ann did. His shoulders stiffened, just a fraction. His mouth opened, then closed. "Well," he began, then stopped. "The doctors were very clear."
"Clear about what?" Ann asked. "That it's best you don't see anyone right now," he said. "Friends, staff, even extended family. They said visits could trigger memories. Set you back." Ann tilted her head slightly. "All of them?" "Yes." "No calls either?" she asked quietly. Oliver exhaled. "Especially calls."
She studied his face, searching for cracks. "That seems… strict."
"They're professionals," he replied, a note of irritation slipping into his voice before he smoothed it over. "They know what they're doing." "I suppose," Ann said. Silence again.
Oliver cleared his throat. "You need peace, Ann. Time. Healing." "I know," she replied.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I'm doing everything I can to make sure you're taken care of. Everything."
"I appreciate that," Ann said. She meant it, and she didn't. Both at once.
Oliver stood up suddenly, pacing a short distance before stopping himself. He turned back to her, forcing a smile.
"You look… better," he said. "Calmer."
Ann's lips curved faintly. "Do I?"
"Yes," he insisted. "Much better."
"I don't feel better," she said simply.
He paused. "Healing isn't always something you feel right away."
She nodded. "I suppose not."
Oliver glanced at his watch. "I shouldn't stay too long. The doctors prefer short visits."
"Of course," Ann said.
He stepped closer to the bed, hesitating for a moment before reaching out and taking her hand. His palm was warm. Familiar. Once comforting. Now it felt distant, almost foreign.
"You're strong, Ann," he said. "You always have been."
She met his eyes. "I have to be."
"Yes," he agreed softly. "You do."
He released her hand and took a step back.
"I'll come again soon," he said.
"Alright," Ann replied.
As he reached for the door, she spoke again.
"Oliver?"
He turned. "Yes?"
"Thank you… for everything."
For a split second, something flickered across his face—satisfaction, perhaps. Or relief.
"You're welcome," he said. "Rest."
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
Ann remained still for a long moment, listening to his footsteps fade down the corridor. Only when she was sure he was gone did she allow her shoulders to relax.
Her expression didn't change, but her eyes darkened slightly. Under control, she thought. She lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling once more. The room was quiet again, deceptively calm.
Ann smiled faintly.
The game was no longer one-sided.