Bradley snored beside her. How long had she been listening to him tonight? Wanting to tell him it was him who should be awake, punching his pillow, peeling in overheated desperation out of the doona  only to pull it back when the cold got too much. But he slept, as always, like a baby. A big noisy stupid baby. He should have been the one kept awake by unresolvable dilemna. But that was her fate and hers alone. All becasue she’d said it was OK. It was in the past. All because she loved him too much—and he her, she knew that. Loved him too much to tell him how much it had hurt. That thing she told him was forgotten. His little affair. His mistake. His moment of weakness.

He snorted, twisted round, and flopped the dead weight of his sleeping arm across her back.  How long had it been?