It's just before six in the morning. Feels weird to wake up so early, an hour later than I used to wake up before this whole virus/layoff thing began. Lately I've been sleeping in until eight, sometimes later than Stephen, soaking it up.
Pale light through the gauzy window curtains. I ease my way out through the shush of bed sheets. Bare feet on the floor. Reach under the covers quietly toward a sleeping dog who may wake up later and find a place at the edge of the couch to pee on if I don't take him now.
Stephen stirs, makes an awareness sound.
Then, "Oh," he murmurs. "Sorry."
He thinks he's been snoring and I'm going to sleep upstairs.
"No," I whisper, "I'm just getting used to waking up early again."
Next week, I go back to work.
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