I ran both hands over my face.
“He thinks the settlement is for a care facility.”
Neither man spoke.
“He thinks he’s saving me from him.”
Owen’s expression changed.
“That article.”
“Yes.”
Caleb exhaled slowly.
“You need to tell Dr. Whitcomb.”
“I will.”
The yard remained open because three boats needed to leave by evening and because work was the only thing keeping me from going upstairs every thirty seconds.
I went every hour instead.
At noon, Noah had not moved.
At one, he rolled onto his back but did not wake.
At two, he opened his eye when I touched his shoulder.
“Cal?”
“Yes.”
“Gone?”
“She’s gone.”
His eye closed.
“Good.”
At three, he drank half a glass of water and immediately returned to sleep.
At five, Caleb and Owen locked the yard and refused to let me check the doors behind them.
I went upstairs.
Noah woke long enough to eat three spoonfuls of soup.
He did not ask what happened downstairs.
Did not mention his mother.
When I climbed into bed later, he stayed turned away from me.
Usually, even asleep, he found contact.
A hand over my chest.
