As I watched Carmela sleep, a soft smile tugged at the side of my lips. I hated the fact I was about to wake her but the bedsheet had to be changed. Scanning the room for somewhere to lay her, my eyes landed on the wide couch at its center. Carefully, I lifted her, cradled her against my chest, and laid her down so the bed could be tended to.
I carried the stained sheet to the laundry basket, then smoothed the fresh linen over the mattress. Still, I felt a low, nagging unease throbbed at the edge of my thoughts, and a pressure I couldn't shake.
"You've surprised me, by how far you've changed. Changing sheets? For a man who buries himself in papers?" The voice cut through the quiet familiar, and yet one I dreaded.
