“Because.” Because the images in her mind were spinning so furiously she thought her head may explode.

He rolled over so that he was facing her, but then fell back to sleep. Each time air whistled past, his nostrils flared. She covered one up and listened as he sputtered, sending little balls of spit onto her cheek. She poked him in his chest, and when he didn’t respond she poked again. It was like knocking at an abandoned house.

“Seriously, Therese, what the hell do you want?”

“Wake up.”

“Why?”

She didn’t know how to explain that at that moment, being alone was the most terrifying thing she could imagine. A few minutes passed and she could tell from his breathing that he was almost asleep again. She came close to his face and kissed his upper lip, but the contact startled him, and he jumped and hit her in the nose.

“Damn it.” Tears formed in her eyes as a response to the sting of the hit.

“Sorry. But I don’t know what you want, and I need to get some sleep.”

She lay back down and he was quiet. He reached over and touched the side of her face. And then he was on top of her, and she closed her eyes and tried to lose herself in what he was doing.

But it was wrong.

It was suffocating and crushing and confusing and no matter how hard she tried to match herself to him, it made her feel like she was gasping. She wanted to push him off, but she was so tired and he was so determined. And then it was over and she could feel the dampness on the pillow and she knew it was from her tears. His breaths grew deeper and more peaceful as the minutes on the clock ticked away. It didn’t matter anymore whether he was awake or asleep.

She was alone either way.

Even though it was Saturday, she was up early the next morning, but not before Tim. On weekends, she would lay in bed, listening as he walked down the hall to get Matilda. When he passed by her room, the one he himself had slept in as a child, Matilda would call out to him, and she could hear him pretend that lifting her out of bed was a chore and then complain about how he never had a moment to himself. Matilda would giggle and slip her hand into his. Therese would sit on the top step, listening to their morning ritual. Matilda twittered like a bird. When Therese heard the word “daddy,” she wished that it didn’t make her hurt inside.