The room is dark, except for the light seeping in from under his bathroom door. I turn, trying not to wake Christopher. He shifts, curling his arm around me and pulling me closer, but his breathing quickly returns to the soft, rhythmic sound of deep sleep.
Last night was a lifetime away from the night we spent together as teenagers. The night of the accident we’d made love on the couch in the office at Cecelia’s. But there’d been no time for basking in the afterglow, no time to fall asleep in each other’s arms. Christopher had to get back to the hospital, and I had to get back home.
He’d driven me home, parking a block away from my house so my parents wouldn’t see his car. We’d shared a teary goodbye, unsure if we’d be able to see each other over the next few days. He’d texted me when he
