“I’ll be sure to do the same,” she replies, watching as he wraps her hands in thin gauze. It makes her realize how long it’s been since she wrapped her arms. What was nearly a daily ritual has become obsolete here.

Once her hands are wrapped, she leans back against the toilet tank to present her bare knees for the same treatment. Seeing him there, kneeling before her, reminds her why she was running over here in the first place.

“I suppose I ruined our plans,” she says ruefully, reaching out to touch his hair and realizing at the last moment that she can’t, so she huffs and rests her wrapped hands on her thighs, palms up.