Pushing the bedroom door open revealed a hallway and a couple of other open doors, through which I caught glimpses of another bedroom and bathroom.
When I peered curiously into the second bedroom, it looked like a guest room, lacking much by way of personality or clutter except for the pile of clothes on a chair. The room I'd been living in, by contrast, had the touches that suggested constant occupancy: a few bits and bobs on top of the dresser, an open closet door revealing hung-up shirts and suits, toiletries in the en suite bathroom.
Drew had given me his own bed, then.
I found myself smiling as I headed down the stairs at the end of the hallway. Something about his thoughtful, devoted care felt important to me, and more than simply because of the contrast to what had come before. Like I might not remember my former life, but the emotional impressions of it had lingered somehow…and those impressions didn't include anything quite as wonderfully kind as Drew.
