"No more than you really are." He gave her hand a tug, wrapping an arm around her waist and hugging her, a brief, tight squeeze. He'd been better earlier, but he could feel himself getting more and more anxious; he'd been outside twice to pace in the garden. "I think the calming draught's wearing off," he admitted.
He bit his lip, glancing across the room, then back at Angie. "The funeral director came and talked to me earlier. Same guy who did Fred's funeral," he added in a whisper, then leaned his cheek against her hair.
"Just when I think I'm close to being 'fixed', something else convinces me that I'm still broken..."