He twisted once to look back at her.
For a second, she saw the man from the hospital waiting room five years earlier. Handsome, anxious, holding a paper cup of coffee she had brought him because his aunt was in surgery and he looked alone. He had thanked her then like kindness was something rare. He had asked her questions about herself. He had remembered small things. Or pretended to.
“Lenora,” he said, voice breaking. “Please.”
She felt the pull of the old reflex: comfort him, explain, soften, protect him from consequences.
Then she saw Candace near the exit, eyes down, already distancing herself. She saw Beverly refusing to look at anyone. She saw Mr. Wilson watching with quiet sadness. She saw Vincent standing beside her like a wall.
“No,” Lenora said.
Darnell’s face crumpled with disbelief, not because he understood what he had done, but because he understood he could no longer control what happened next.
