For a few seconds, I just stood there, staring at her curled up on the couch.
The thought crossed my mind to wake her, maybe offer the bed and take the couch myself. It would've been the polite thing to do. The right thing.
But then another thought crept in, quieter but stronger. That this — her already asleep, her breathing slow and even — might be the safest version of tonight I was going to get.
So I left her there.
I switched off the light in the living room, letting the glow from the hallway spill across the couch, across her. Her hair had fallen loose over her face, soft waves against her cheek, her hand tucked under a cushion like she belonged there. I didn't dare move closer. Didn't dare look longer than a few seconds.
I turned away.
