I don't sleep. I couldn't.
I try. I lie in the dark with my phone face-down on the nightstand and I tried breathing the way they teach you to in the stress management workshop the hospital makes all ER staff attend every two years. In for four, hold for four, out for four. It works on anxious patients. It's doing almost nothing for me tonight.
At one-fifteen I pick up the phone and look at the photograph again.
It's good quality for a long-distance shot. Whoever took it knew what they were doing, knew what angle to use, knew exactly when to press the button. Dominic's hand on my back. My face turned slightly toward his. We look, in this photograph, like two people who chose to be standing exactly where they're standing.
We look, I realize, completely convincing.
Which means this phot
