Isabel sat stiffly on one side of the bed, the blanket pulled up to her waist. The room felt colder than usual, even though the thermostat hadn’t changed. She shifted slightly, peeking over her shoulder.
Isaac was seated in the armchair by the far wall, his sleeves rolled up, his laptop open on his thighs, one hand propped against his temple. The soft glow from the screen lit up the sharp line of his jaw.
She hesitated, then spoke, her voice low.
“Aren’t you coming to bed?”
He didn’t look up.
“I won’t be sleeping tonight,” he said, tapping something on the keyboard. “Go ahead. I’ll be here.”
She turned back toward the pillow, her fingers lightly tugging at the edge of the blanket. The sound of him typing was oddly calming. Her body slowly settled. The last thing she heard before slee
