The road stretched out ahead of me in a blur of dim streetlights and the faint glisten of rain on the asphalt. The helmet muffled the world, but it couldn't quiet the sound in my head—her voice, softer than it should ever be, saying "sorry for the trouble."
It wasn't the apology itself that stayed with me.
It was the way she said it—like she truly believed she was a burden.
Like being taken care of wasn't her right.
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