Dawn

“Is he asleep?” he asks.

“Of course,” she snaps. But should there be an “of course”? After all, many a night she has been up until the small hours consoling her husband after a fit. It’s not the convulsions she fears, she’s got used to those; it’s the aftermath, his sense of disorientation. Her voice softens. “Yes, he is asleep, sorry.”

“You don’t have to say sorry. It’s not easy. I understand.”

“Do you?”

“Well, I try. I know it’s difficult to put myself in your place.”