It had been three more days and Alan was even getting worse.
He didn't like to be in the same room as her and so always came to bed when she was fast asleep or left the bed before she woke up.
Either that or he never slept in the bed with her. But the wrinkled sheets on his side of the bed told her he had slept there. It could mean he didn't entirely hate her.
If only she could push harder, maybe remind him what they were once before.
Maybe Eleanor could help him heal.
But here was the case he wasn't interested in talking to her.
How was she going to figure out helping him? Eleanor lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling.
The sun was peeking through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room.
She stretched in bed one more time before she got up and headed for the bathroom, hoping that a shower would help her clear her mind.
As she stood under the hot water, she thought about everything.
