
1.5 K readers · 10 chapters · 5 free
The curtains in our Upper East Side penthouse are always drawn. Jonathan prefers it that way—says the light hurts his eyes. I've learned to navigate our apartment in perpetual dusk, my fingers trailing along familiar walls as I move from room to room. "Emily?" Jonathan's voice floats from the bedroom. "Are you still here?" "Just getting your medication ready," I call back, my voice steady despite the knot in my stomach. Ten years of practice has taught me to hide my frustration well. I arrange the pills in neat rows on his bedside table—blood pressure medication at 8 AM, eye drops at noon, vitamins at 3 PM. The routine never varies. Dr. Chen says consistency is crucial for Jonathan's condition.