It was a tired seven-year-old accepting an answer he could use for the night.

We did not ask him to make it more.

I kissed him, and Ethan turned on the night-light.

The repaired paper star hung above the desk with its wider point facing the door.

We left the room together.

In the hallway, Ethan asked, “Where will you sleep when you’re back?”

“Upstairs.

Separately, while we work out arrangements.”