There is no recognition.
In spite of everything.
Who he was is gone. But who has he become?
She rises, heads back into the bathroom. She grabs a bath towel. A CLATTER from the living room snatches her attention back. She launches herself back into the living room.
He's moved. Slightly. Hit the basin. Water's spilled on the hard wood floor. The basin's overturned.
It's undamaged.
Lana uprights the basin. She uses the wash rag to sop up the spilled water, uses the bath towel to dry him.
She touches him. First accidentally.
Then on purpose...
His skin...
...leans in to inhale him.
She hovers there, a few inches above the small of his back, tracing the length of his spine with her eyes, moving, inhaling, remembering, then remembering not to (remember).
She backhands the recollections away.