William knew this would happen and hence he kept it from his father. He had decided to break it to him, when Catherine was with him. Seeing her would make him believe.
"No, Dad." William gripped his arm firmly. "Our Bean is okay. She spoke to you, remember? Did she sound different? Did she sound broken?"
James's chest rose and fell, unsteady.
"Shall I call her?" William asked, already scrolling down.
"No…" James stopped him. "Let her rest."
Slowly… slowly… he calmed.
The storm didn't leave.
It just buried itself deeper.
"You go home," James said at last, voice quiet, worn. "Miranda will be waiting."
"Dad… do you want to sleep at our place tonight?" William asked, unease curling in his gut. Something felt wrong. His father looked… smaller. Frailer. The doctors had advised him to keep him from stress and nothing stresses their father more than letting him know Catherine had suffered.
"I'm fine," James said, waving him off in that familiar, stubborn way. "Go."
