A tiny rustling sounded at her bedroom door. Inch by inch, the door swung open, so hesitatingly that at first she thought she must be imagining it. But no: after a minute or so the dim light from her bedroom window illuminated a rectangular patch of hallway floor.

A small, indistinct shadow stood outside the patch of light. With agonizing slowness, Lawrence inched into view. First one foot, then the curved grip of a hand on the doorframe, then a sliver of his cheek. Over the course of the next five minutes he tiptoed across the room and eased himself and the remaining Roomba onto the foot of the bed, then repeated the whole painstaking process of oozing his way up to the empty pillow beside Compton, where he placed the Roomba beside him, before gradually, ever-so-slowly lowering his head down. He then spent the next five minutes scooting backward in tiny increments until he’d nestled himself against her. Finally, after another few minutes, he let out a long sigh and his breathing again became regular.

Compton didn’t tell him she was awake. His entire young life had been spent under the burden of not making excessive noise when his poor, sleep-deprived mother tried to catch a few hours in the middle of the day after being up all night. Her heart swelled at his consideration: he’d wanted to be with his mother, but even in the face of his fear or loneliness or sadness, his eight-year-old self had possessed the discipline to think of her needs first. He hadn’t wanted to wake her when she too was tired and sad, perhaps understanding on some instinctual level that sleep was her only respite. So he’d crept in as quietly and slowly as he could, protecting her. She tucked an arm around him and pulled him closer, hot tears pricking her eyes at the warmth of his skinny little body.

And she went to sleep.

—

SOMEHOW, THE DAY passed. Compton helped Lawrence with his schoolwork, played Unicorn Princess with Rose, and chased after Baby Walter, who toddled around at warp speed trying to eat things. She read aloud from the children’s favorite book, Meet Wild Boars, for the ten thousandth time. She fixed breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and then cleaned up after breakfast, lunch, and dinner. (Lawrence refused to allow her to run the surviving Roomba, terrified that with no competent fixer around, it would suck up something inappropriate and choke.)

Bedtime for the children approached. Compton put Rose and Walter into a bath together and watched from the doorway as they gleefully splashed each other’s naked bodies. Having pronounced himself bath supervisor, Lawrence perched with lordly grace upon the closed lid of the toilet and shouted orders at his siblings not to splash. They splashed more. Frustrated at being ignored, he hopped up and switched off the bathroom light.