Every night after the Farrows finished their dinner, he slumped onto the living room couch to watch TV. Every night, Vivienne appeared like clockwork—drowning in a sweatshirt four sizes too big, her hair in damp braids. She’d curl onto the adjacent cushion, tailed by the dogs. Thomas spent the next hour pretending to watch a show, hyperaware of every shift and sigh. Most nights, Vivienne fell asleep. He’d shut off the television and drape her in a blanket, then leave as quietly as he could.
Wait thats so cute tho
