The slap of footsteps on the stairs was too light to be Apollo or Patrick, and Will tried to clamp down on the flutter of hope in his chest. She'd scarcely strayed beyond her room since they'd brought her home. She'd not yet made it as far as the stairs. He tried to coax her to eat as much as he could, but other than that, he didn't push.
Maybe it was a good sign that she was leaving the bedroom? No, better not to think of it that way. Just keep taking it moment to moment, like he had been. Sit with her, hold her, try to be the anchor she needed. And cling to each of her rare and fleeting smiles like the precious things they were.
Will kept his hand curled around the wooden spoon and his eyes on the simmering pot in front of him until her voice sounded softly behind him. He turned, then, a quiet smile creasing his features. Her hair was wet – she'd showered, too. "Hey, love. Up to some porridge? Or I can fix summat else if you'd rather."