Heavy Cleansing and Constant Sight
She stirred, glancing at her mud-streaked, crumpled clothes. Nodding sluggishly, she rose unsteadily. He followed. At the bathroom door, she paused, looking back. "I won’t leave," he assured. "Right here." He pulled a stool and sat just outside. Only then did she close the door. Soon, water pattered faintly. He sat hunched, forehead against the cool wall, alert to every sound.
Waiting Outside and Calming Presence
Eyes closed, he wore utter weariness but remained tensely attentive—ready to spring at any pause. The water stopped. Moments later, the door cracked open, steam billowing out. She emerged in clean pajamas, towel-turbaned hair, face flushed but eyes distant. Seeing him still there, she visibly eased. He stood stiffly. "Sleep?" he asked softly. She nodded. He guided her to their room, leaving the door ajar.
Tranquil Bedroom and Night Whispers
From the dim living room, I saw him draw back the covers, tuck her in. Soft light bathed the room. She lay curled protectively. Beside her, he draped an arm, rhythmically patting her back through the quilt—a lullaby for a frightened child. In the dark, I caught his low murmurs: "It’s alright, A-Wen." "I’m here." "Sleep." "Never again." The words faded into silence. Her tense form slowly melted under his steady touch.
