I woke up at five: fourteen in the morning with the best sleep of my adult life behind me and a problem in front of me that was immediate, significant, and pointing directly at the ceiling.
I did not move.
Moving was not an option because moving would wake her and waking her was not something I was going to do, not because I was being considerate, although I was being considerate, but because waking her would require me to explain why I was awake and the explanation was currently making itself extremely obvious through the thin fabric of my sleeping trousers and I had some dignity left, and I intended to keep it.
She was on my chest.
I do not know when this happened. I had fallen asleep on my side of the bed at the responsible and deliberate distance of a man who understood boundaries
