-Shakespeare The next time we make love is slow and sweet. I come into Caitlin with my heart so full it feels like it’s about to burst, and by the time we shatter—within seconds of each other, our cries muffled by a kiss—I am even more hers than I was before. I am a part of her, and she is a part of me, and I am home. After, I’m more exhausted than I can remember being since the surgery, but I stay awake as long as I can. I lie with my eyes open in the dark, staring at the flat white paint of the hotel ceiling, memorizing the miracle that is Caitlin asleep on my chest, before I finally drift off around two in the morning. When the pounding on the door comes three hours later, it feels like I’ve only been out for a few minutes. Caitlin is up and out of bed, tugging on my gray tee shirt, and hurrying across the room before I’ve managed to lift my head from the pillow. She cracks the door, sending a shaft of light piercing through the gloom to fall across the foot of the bed. I hear an urgent mumble from outside, then Caitlin whispering something soft and reassuring, and then a voice that sounds like Danny’s saying— “No, now, Caitlin.
