❝ –– perhaps it’s true that things can change in a day. and when they do, those few dozen hours, like the salvaged remains of a burned house—the charred clock, the singed photograph, the scorched furniture—must be resurrected from the ruins and examined. and suddenly, they become the bleached bones of a story.
“I - I…” Teddy sobbed, gaze still lingering between sleeping and waking. Her breaths came frantic and fleeting; nocturnal demons still clinging to her skin. “Henry…”
Henry clasped his arm tightly around her while his other placed under her chin, tilting her head up so he could lock his calm eyes with her frantic ones. “Teddy… I’m here… I’m right here…” His fingers ran along her cheek. “It’s just another nightmare.”
“But it wasn’t a nightmare,” she whimpered. “It was r e a l . All of it really did happen.” She spoke o f the desert, of the war and the blood; she could never seem to forget it, no matter how many times she woke up safe in Henry’s arms.
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