The Man Who Entered Our Bedroom at 1:13 Every Night

against the pillows and winced. A small movement. Automatic. Like she’d gotten used to pain living in the room with her.

“You love like a fire alarm,” she said. “Everything becomes noise.”

I opened my mouth. Closed it.

Because the ugly part was, she wasn’t wrong.

Not fully.

Not enough to dismiss.

She kept going.

“I couldn’t do it again. I couldn’t have you continue reading …