“Not now.”
“That is enough.”
I rubbed his back.
“If she contacts us, I’ll handle it.”
Noah looked at me.
“We handle it.”
The correction was gentle.
Important.
“We do,” I said.
By noon, discharge was approved.
Noah accepted the wheelchair without argument.
That told me how tired he remained.
At the curb, he leaned against me while I helped him into the station wagon.
The drive home lasted twelve minutes.
He slept for eleven.
Upstairs, he went directly to bed.
I placed water, medication, crackers, and his phone within reach. Marlowe climbed up and settled against his side.
Noah opened one eye.
“Yard?”
“Going downstairs.”
“Need you.”
The words stopped me.
“Here?”
He nodded.
I took off my boots and lay beside him.
His hand moved to my chest.
“Five minutes.”
“As long as you need.”
“I don’t want to sleep alone.”
“You won’t.”
