I’ll do better next time,” I tell her, making a mental note to be more prepared from our impromptu sleepovers in the future. “Next time,” she laughs without humor. “Next time you can come and stay in my room where I have everything I need,” she snaps, clearly stressed, and I am already missing her sunshine smile, so I can’t help but tease her. “Inviting me for sleepovers already, wife? My body must be better than I thought.”
