EMILY
“Good morning, my sweet sleepyhead!” said Mike as he stroked my forehead.
The timbre of his voice had a more pleasant resonance than my favorite musical song. I sat tight in his arms, my head on his chest. I glanced around and noticed we were in the bed in my room, not on the couch in the living room. Nothing was bothering me. I was delighted by the soft, diffused light that created an atmosphere of comforting tranquility.
“Is it dark already?” I asked.
“Yes. It’s 12 a.m.”
“I don’t think I slept that long. I’ve been so lazy!”
“You needed your rest. It’s good when you’re exhausted to rest to get your thoughts in order.”
“How I got here. I honestly remember nothing.”
“I held you in my arms until you fell asleep on the couch, then your father showed me your room and I brought you here.”
“You watched over me that long?”
“I honestly wish I had, but I felt sorry for your father, leaving him alone. He needed someone to talk to. He was thinking of Olivia
