The Motel.

I almost turned the car around twice.

The first time was halfway there, when the Sat-Nav cheerfully announced I had another four miles to go. My hands tightened on the steering wheel, and I actually slowed down as if the car might make the decision for me. This is ridiculous, I thought. I was a forty-something married woman driving to a motel to meet a man I'd slept with once in college. It was not how I thought I'd be spending my Wednesday afternoon.

The second time was when the faded sign for Willow Creek Motel appeared on the side of the road.

It wasn't seedy exactly. Just tired. The paint on the office building had seen better days. Half the hanging flower baskets were empty, and the swimming pool looked like it hadn't been used all winter. A row of single-story rooms stretched around the edge of the property.

I sat in the car with the engine running. "One conversation," I whispered to myself. "Then you leave." I picked up my handbag, climbed out and locked the car.

The motel was quiet enough that I could hear birds somewhere behind the building. A gardener was trimming a hedge near reception, paying me no attention whatsoever. That helped. At least I wasn't sneaking around. Daniel was staying in Room Twelve; he’d messaged me the number that morning.

Rather than walking towards the hotel room, I saw that the motel had a small dinner attached to it. That would be a better place to meet a man after 25 years. Somewhere public. I messaged Daniel that I wasn’t coming to his room, but I would meet him at dinner instead. He responded that he was on his way.

Taking a seat at a booth in the restaurant, it gave me a chance to calm myself while I waited for Daniel to arrive. My heart had been pounding that hard I thought I could hear it through my chest. A bell sounded as the door swung open and I looked up. It was Daniel. I recognised him instantly. Twenty-five years had added grey hair, softened his jaw and etched fine lines around his eyes, but he was unmistakably Daniel Carter. He looked surprised for only a fraction of a second before offering a tentative smile as he walked towards me. In his hand was a simple Manila folder filled with papers.

I noticed the limp he tried to hide immediately. What on earth was going on?

"Emily,” Daniel said.

"Hi."

Neither of us moved. I don’t know if he was expecting a hug or a handshake.

"Would you like to sit down? I’m here now," I said.

“Oh yeah. Sorry. It’s just a shock seeing you after so long. You look great.”

I pursed my lips into a flat line. There it was. The compliments I’d been expecting. This was a hook-up as I’d figured all along. I should leave now while I could.

Daniel sat down before I could get up, placing the folder on the bench seat beside him before settling his hands on the table. One hand shook slightly, the right, before he clamped down on it with his left and pressed into the table. What was that?

"Thank you for coming," he said.

"I almost didn't."

"I wouldn't have blamed you."

"I nearly blocked you permanently."

He nodded. "I know."

"You do?"

"You blocked me once already."

Despite everything, I gave Daniel a small smile. "I suppose I did."

"I'm sorry about asking you to come to my room. It was thoughtless."

"It was."

"I honestly wasn't thinking how it would sound."

He gestured towards the waitress looking bored behind the counter. "Would you like a coffee?"

I shook my head. "No thanks. I’m not staying long."

For a few moments neither of us spoke. Daniel seemed to be searching for the right place to begin.

Finally, I broke the silence. "You said it was important."

"It is."

"You've had twenty-five years to think about what you were going to say."

"I know."

"So, say it."

He looked down at his hands. "I've rehearsed this conversation hundreds of times."

"And?"

"And every version sounds terrible."

I folded my arms. "I'm listening."

Daniel lifted the folder up onto the battered table, and I saw that it was medical paperwork. "I wasn't sure you'd believe me." He opened the folder up and turned it towards me.

Hospital logos. Letters. Test results. Without asking permission, I took the whole pile and looked at the top page. The words meant nothing at first. Then I saw them.

Department of Neurology.

Genetics Clinic.

Further down the page, another phrase caught her eye.

Huntington's Disease.

I looked back at him and felt horrible for prejudging him. "You're sick?"

He nodded slowly. "I was diagnosed three months ago."

I tried to soften my expression as much as I could. "Oh..."

"I started noticing little things about a year ago."

"What sort of things?"

"My hands twitching. Forgetting things. Trouble concentrating."

He gave a humourless laugh.

"I convinced myself it was stress."

"But it wasn't."

"No."

I looked down at the paperwork again. "I've heard of Huntington's."

"Most people have."

"I don't know much about it."

"I didn't either." His voice remained calm, almost detached, as though he'd repeated the explanation so many times it no longer felt like it belonged to him.

"It's inherited."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"My father died from it."

"I'm sorry."

"I always knew there was a chance I'd inherited it."

"And now you know."

"Yes."

Silence settled between them again.

I found myself genuinely saddened. I’d only just reconnected with Daniel after so long, and he was dying. Whatever awkwardness had existed when Daniel had walked through the door was fading. This wasn't a man trying to rekindle an old romance. This was a man whose future had suddenly become frighteningly small.

"I'm sorry, Daniel. Truly. And I made you walk all the way over here when I shouldn’t have."

Daniel gave me a tired smile. "It's nothing. I'm just a little slower than I used to be, that's all. Stairs are becoming a problem. That's one of the reasons I picked this place. Everything's on one level."

The guilt hit me immediately. I'd made him limp over, probably in pain, because I'd assumed the worst about him. "I should have given you more credit," I admitted quietly. "I'm sorry."

"You don't owe me an apology."

"I think I do."

He shook his head. "If our positions were reversed, I'd probably have thought exactly the same thing."

I looked down at the folder between us. The paperwork suddenly seemed far heavier than a few sheets of paper should. "Here..." I said, standing. "Let's go back to your room."

He looked surprised. "You sure?"

I nodded.

Outside, the afternoon sun felt warmer than it had when I'd arrived. Neither of us spoke as we crossed the small car park. Daniel's limp was subtle but impossible to ignore now that I'd noticed it. He favoured his right leg, occasionally reaching a hand towards the railing whenever the path sloped, almost absent-mindedly, as though he hated needing the support. It struck me that he wasn't trying to gain sympathy. Quite the opposite. He was trying to hide it.

Room Twelve was only fifty metres away, but by the time we reached the door I found myself slowing my own pace to match his without even thinking about it.

Daniel unlocked the door and stepped aside. "After you."

The room looked exactly as I'd imagined it would, though seeing it now somehow made it less intimidating. It wasn't a place for romance. It was temporary. Functional. The bed was neatly made. An overnight bag sat open on the luggage rack. A laptop rested on the small desk beneath the television. Several prescription bottles stood beside the kettle, lined up with almost military precision.

There were no flowers. No champagne. No attempt to create any kind of atmosphere.

Just the quiet, lonely room of a man living out of a suitcase while attending medical appointments. I realised then how unfair I'd been. Daniel closed the door behind us but deliberately left the deadbolt untouched. He noticed me glance towards it.

"I thought I'd leave that unlocked," he said gently. "I figured it might make you feel more comfortable."

"It does."

He gestured towards the only chair in the room. "You take that."

"What about you?"

"I'll sit on the bed."

He lowered himself carefully onto the edge of the mattress with the sort of deliberate movements people make when they're trying not to let their bodies betray them. The Manila folder rested on his lap. For several long seconds he simply stared at it.

Then he looked up at me. "Emily... before I tell you any of this, I need you to know something."

"What?"

"I haven't come here to ask you for anything."

I frowned. I desperately wanted to comfort Daniel and make him feel better all of a sudden. My mind suddenly whirled with the crazy idea of sleeping with Daniel.

"I'm not looking for money."

"I never thought you were," I said. It could be a one-time thing. A way for old lovers to reconnect one final time before the inevitable.

"I'm not trying to ruin your marriage."

Jay would never find out, and who knows how much longer Daniel would survive anyway. The secret would pass with him.

"And I'm certainly not trying to come back into your life." His eyes dropped to the folder again. "The truth is..." He drew a slow breath.

Oh, for crying out loud, Daniel, spit it out already! Just say you want to fuck me one last time or I’m going to drop on my knees and start blowing you right now.

"...if my neurologist hadn't insisted I had a moral responsibility, you never would have heard from me again."

I’d stopped listening and started to tie my hair back with an elastic band.

That’s when Daniel dropped the bomb on me…