“So do you.”

He walked over to the rocking chair and stood beside me.

He rested his hand on my shoulder, his thumb near the base of my neck.

His touch was warm and steady.

I reached up and touched his wrist, feeling the pulse beneath his skin.

The sharp, icy wedge that had come between us in the ER waiting room was gone, melted away not by speeches or promises, but by five days of quiet, relentless action.

He had gotten up at two in the morning every night this week to give June her bottle without waking me.