One night, I found her sitting on the bottom stair with one hand pressed against the wall.
“Evie?”
She looked up, annoyed that I had caught her. “I’m fine.”
“You’re sitting in the dark.”
I found her sitting on the bottom stair.
“I was resting.”
“On the stairs?”
That made her sigh.
I helped her up, and for one brief second, she leaned her weight into me before pulling away.
In the kitchen, I filled the kettle.
“You don’t have to fuss,” she said.
“I’m making tea.”
“I was resting.”
