He settles me on my back in bed, crawls in beside me, and pulls the covers over us. He slides his arm beneath my neck and flattens a hand over my belly in the same spot he always does, directly over my scar.
Then he puts his nose into my damp hair and inhales.
When he exhales, it sounds like decades of misery have been relieved, like maybe he was just released from prison.
We lie like that for a long time, holding each other, just breathing.
I know I’ll remember this moment for the rest of my life.
When he finally speaks, his voice is soft and drowsy. “When I first saw you, I thought you were homeless.”
Too blissed out to be offended, I laugh instead. “Such a sweet talker.”
“You were so unkempt. Small, gray, and rumpled, like a tissue someone had kept in their pocket too long.”
My
