Why?
Gideon wrote:
He said some doors should stay closed.
Rosalie looked toward the bowl.
“What kind of father says that?”
Gideon could not hear the words clearly, but perhaps he understood her expression.
His face softened.
He reached across the table and placed his hand beside hers.
Not touching.
Just close.
It was the nearest they had come to tenderness.
Rosalie stared at the space between their fingers.
Eight days ago, she had believed this man would be another prison.
Instead, he had given her a room, privacy, food, safety—and now a secret he had apparently shared with no one else.
She turned the notebook toward herself.
We should see a doctor.
Gideon’s expression closed immediately.
No.
Why?
Doctors already decided.
Years ago.
No.
Rosalie studied him.
