She could not sleep.
She lay on Sarah's couch with the throw blanket and the lamplight under the door from the hallway and she stared at the ceiling and ran through every possible outcome the way she had once run through lesson plans — systematically, without catastrophizing, looking for the gaps.
At 1 a.m. Nathan texted.
Still awake?
Obviously.
What are you doing?
Staring at the ceiling. You?
Reading depositions. Less restful than it sounds.
She smiled at the ceiling.
Nathan.
Yes.
Whatever happens tomorrow — I need you to know that what you've done for this case isn't something I'm taking lightly. I know you have professional reasons. But it doesn't feel purely professional and I didn't want to not say that.
The dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again. Longer this time.
It
