The second I heard that Steve's condition had improved I went to visit him in the hospital. He was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling when I entered. He turned when he heard the door creak.

"Hi," I whispered.

He tried to smile. "What are you doing here, Rosie?"

I stepped over to the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got stabbed." He indicated his arm, which was wrapped with so many layers of bandages and gauze it had almost tripled in size.

"I'm sorry."

"I would have done it again," he said vehemently. "I would have taken a thousand knives for her."

"No, I mean I'm--" I sniffed, "I'm sorry I didn't--I wasn't--"

Steve held up his hand. "I'm sorry I put you through it. I thought that it might help her to have a friend. I never dreamed that Emily--Emily!"

My head whipped around toward the door to see Shawn lead Emily into the room.

Emily took a frightened step backward as Steve threw back the sheets and made to rush toward her, only thwarted by the tangle of cords attached to him.

"Emily," he said again, settling down, speaking more calmly after seeing how frightened his initial reaction had made her.

He reached out to her and she stepped forward obediently.

"How are you?" he whispered, taking her hand.

"You're hurt," she said, as if he didn't know. "What happened?"

Steve shrugged. "My arm got cut."

"I'm sorry," she told him innocently. "Does it hurt?"

"Not much."

"This is my friend!" She indicated toward Shawn. My heart dropped. It sounded like her memory had not improved.

She looked over at me and gasped. "I know you! Rosie, hi!"

"Hello."

"I hope we aren't interrupting anything," Shawn said, looking at me.

I shook my head. "No, I just came to see how Steve was doing. I'll let you two have some time."

I made to leave but Emily grabbed my hand with surprising strength.

"No! Stay!"

I looked at Steve, silently asking him if he would rather have time with just his wife, but he smiled at me.

"Please stay, Rosie. We love visiting with you."

I nodded. "Okay."

Emily gasped and pointed at his arm. "Ooh! Can I sign your cast?"

"Actually," Steve said, reaching over and taking a coffee mug full of markers off the bedside table, "I was wondering if you might be willing to draw me a picture on my cast. It's so plain and white. I want something to be able to look at."

Emily squealed. "Okay!" She knelt beside the bed and grabbed the first color. "What do you want?"

"How about a nice flower?"

She nodded and set to work. Steve made small talk as she took a pencil out of the cup and began sketching, asking her what she had been doing lately. Emily said she had been hanging out with Shawn and that I had come to visit the other day. She spoke of me like I was her best friend, not like I had betrayed her. It made me feel even more guilty.

Emily began to color as Steve thanked Shawn for his help and, after some thought, apologized for their last meeting. Shawn then apologized for stepping out of line.

Steve stared down at the peach-colored rose taking shape.

"It looks beautiful."

Emily looked up at him, then quickly back down, smiling through a deep crimson blush.

"I never knew where you learned to do this," he chuckled.

"Well," she said with a shrug, "I was pregnant--" she stopped, eyes widening.

Steve stiffened, watching her warily. "Emily?" he whispered, softly touching her arm.

"--And I was bored," she continued, as if the pause had never happened. "I just signed up for an art class. I don't know how I managed to get so good so fast," she chuckled. "I'd always been rubbish at art."

Steve chuckled, too. He stared lovingly down at her, as if he remembered those days clearly.

She worked in silence, outlining the petals and then shading them with a slightly darker color.

"Where is she?" Emily suddenly asked.

"Who?" Steve, who had been resting his eyes, questioned with a start.

"Your wife," she elaborated, staring around as if expecting her to be hiding in a corner.

"My wife," he repeated, his mind furiously working out something to say that would protect Emily's fragile mind. "She, um, she's around here somewhere."

"Where?" Emily stared at him in concern.

"Don't worry, Emily," he told her, patting her shoulder, "she's okay."

"But you need her," Emily told him, confusion etched in her face. "She needs to be here for you."

"I'm alright, Emily," Steve assured her.

"Where is she?" she repeated.

"She's taking care of a few things. She'll be back when she's finished."

Emily frowned, and I knew this wasn't going to sit well with her.

"Is the flower almost finished?" Steve asked her, distracting her away from that touchy subject.

Emily returned to her work, still frowning.

"Why would she do this?" She surprised everyone by questioning a moment later.

"What, Emily?" Shawn asked.

Emily turned to Steve with a glare. "Why would she leave you alone?" she demanded. "You're hurt. You need someone to take care of you."

"Emily--" Steve began.

"Why isn't she here?"

"Emily, she is here," Steve told her, the strain of keeping this act up too much for him.

"Where?"

"Emily, she wants to be here," Steve told her, frustration beginning to well up inside him, "but she just can't. I know she wants to do all she can for me, and she is. You made me so happy coming to visit me, and drawing the flower--"

"But she should be doing all those things!" Emily exclaimed. "She should be making you happy and coming to visit you."

"She is!" Steve cried. "She is, Emily. I promise she is."

"But we've been here a long time!" she told him, "I haven't seen her, not even once!"

"Emily," Steve said slowly, finally tired of the evasiveness, "she is here. I'm looking at her right now."

Emily glanced quickly behind her. "Why is she your wife if she doesn't love you?" she asked, sudden sadness replacing her anger.

"What?" Steve and Shawn cried together.

"Emily, she does love me," Steve insisted.

Emily shook her head. "She's not here right now. She should be the one visiting you, not us. She must not really love you if she's not even caring enough to check on you."

"Emily," Steve breathed, dumbfounded.

"I hate her," she suddenly declared. "I hate her for not taking care of you. You are a wonderful man who deserves to be loved--"

"Emily, I--"

"She doesn't love you, Steve."

"Emily, stop--"

"If she did, she wouldn't have left you--"

"Stop it!"

I gasped as Steve suddenly grabbed her, pulling her so close to him his ragged breathing made her pale eyelashes flutter.

"Don't--you--ever--speak that way again," he seethed, shaking so badly with rage that he caused her to lose her balance. "Do you understand me?"

She whimpered something, and he released her. She fled back to Shawn, who caught her only halfheartedly in his arms, too shocked to realize that she was even there.

"Emily," he spoke into her ear as she buried her head in his chest, "is the flower finished?"

Only about a third of the shading had been completed, and one of the petals needed to be touched up, but she nodded.

We stood there awkwardly for a time, attempting more small talk, but the mood had been dampened.

"Well," Shawn said finally, "we hope you get to feeling better, Steve."

Steve nodded.

"Want me to give you a ride home, Rosie?" Shawn then asked me.

I agreed and we left the room together with one final goodbye.

"Who was he?" Emily asked as we walked down the hall, staring back at the closed door over her shoulder, "I love that man."

Shawn stopped walking. He then fixed her with a defeated yet content smile. "That's Steve. He loves you, too."

Emily stopped walking, too, biting her lip to suppress a smile. Blushing deeply, she put on a burst of speed walking to the exit, head held high.

Shawn shook his head, smiling too. He looked ten years younger as he left, the weight of the past decade gone from his shoulders.