“I didn’t lie. It’s just… tonight was different.”
By day, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I asked the question I was afraid to ask:
“Why do you watch me at night?”
He stood by the window. Outside, the trees shook in the wind.
“Because if I don’t,” he said softly, “something very bad can happen.”
My throat tightened.
“To me?”
His answer held more fear than certainty.
“To both of us.”
That night I pretended to sleep—eyes closed, mind wide awake. He didn’t bring the chair. He sat on the floor, right beside the bed, like someone on watch.
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