I slept deeply for the first time since moving in.
Not the half sleep I had been managing for six weeks, one ear open, mind still running through things even in the dark. Proper sleep. The kind that takes you completely and gives you back in the morning feeling like yourself rather than a managed version of yourself.
I woke at seven.
Light through the curtains. Birds doing their morning business outside. The ordinary sounds of the house beginning its day somewhere below me.
I lay there for a few minutes and thought about the third floor.
The paintings. The brushes in the jar. The view from the east window that Clara had loved enough to put on canvas. Damien standing at the window saying I am not pretending anymore. Not with you.
I thought about standing beside him in that room and ho
