Stan soon slept off, he didn't know how long had passed but he woke up not too long after...
Morning had taken the amber out of the room. What came through the curtains now was pale and honest, the kind of light that made last night sit differently in the body, less fever, more fact. The other side of the bed was empty. The sheet there was cool. He put his palm on it for a second, as if warmth might still be hiding in the cotton, then let the hand fall.
Recollection arrived without drama. The door. Her silhouette. The lie of sleep. Her mouth. The careful way he had gone into her, and the way she had said his name when she came. He sat up slowly, elbows on his knees, and let it settle.
No regret. A quiet, startled tenderness, and under it the simple knowledge that the girl who used to wait on the porch steps was not a girl he could pretend not to see anymore.
