For the first weeks, we woke at the smallest sound.

Nora needed to know where I was every moment.

I checked the door locks three times an hour, and could not always stop myself even when I knew, rationally, that we were safe.

And Elliot met all of it without impatience.

He cooked our meals and drove us to physical therapy and, on the worst nights, simply sat in a chair outside our bedroom door, so that if we woke afraid we would hear him there, awake, between us and the world.

He never once made our fear a burden he had to manage.