—Only when you deserve it.
—She reports everything.
—Then you deserve it often.
The penthouse slowly accumulated evidence of life.
A cup of crayons appeared beside the books.
Lily’s yellow ribbon was forgotten on the sofa.
Mrs.
Whitmore began leaving novels open on the side table.
Elena sometimes drank coffee at the kitchen island instead of disappearing into the service area.
Nathaniel started eating dinner at the table rather than over his desk.
At first, he invited them because Dr.
Cole had ordered regular meals.
Eventually, he stopped pretending that was the reason.
One rainy evening, a month after his diagnosis, Nathaniel received confirmation that he had completed the major stages of his transplant evaluation.
He remained seriously ill, and there was still no promise of when a matching heart might become available.
But he was formally active on the list.
The document arrived in another gray folder.
Nathaniel carried it into the living room, where Lily was sitting in front of the aquarium.
The golden fish drifted toward her as it had on the morning of the diagnosis.
Nathaniel lowered himself carefully onto the sofa.
—I have something to tell you.
Lily turned.
He showed her the folder, though the words meant little to her.
—The doctors are going to keep helping my heart.
And someday, if the right heart becomes available, they may be able to replace the sick one.
Lily considered this with solemn concentration.
—Will you still be you?
Nathaniel had reviewed surgical risks, survival statistics, and recovery projections.
No doctor had asked him that question.
—I think so.
—Good.
Because you’re nicer now.
Elena covered a smile with her hand.
Mrs.
Whitmore made no attempt to hide hers.
Nathaniel looked offended for three full seconds.
Then he laughed.
The sound filled the apartment.
It struck the glass walls, crossed the marble floor, and reached rooms that had remained silent for years.
Lily laughed with him.
Nathaniel’s condition did not vanish because a child had touched his face.
His heart remained damaged.
There were difficult nights, frightening symptoms, and hospital visits that ended with no new answers.
But fear no longer arrived to find him alone.
Mrs.
Whitmore became one of his emergency contacts.
Elena became the other.
Dr.
Cole stopped having to threaten him into attending appointments.
Lily’s doll remained beside Nathaniel’s bed until the night he finally admitted that he could sleep without holding it.
He returned it the next morning.
Lily examined the loose button eye.
—Are you not scared anymore?
Nathaniel knelt so they were face to face.
—I’m still scared.
—Then why are you giving her back?
