I retreated to the kitchen, stepping over the creaky floorboard near the door. The plan was simple: get the work done now, so that when the sun finally hits the pillows and she wakes up, I can pretend I was just as well-rested as she was.
He didn’t.
While she was deep in a dream-state, blissfully unaware of the radiator’s hiss or the distant siren on 5th Avenue, I was wide awake. It’s a strange kind of solitude, watching someone you love sleep so deeply that the house feels entirely yours.