Trusting him not to fall over, I get up and run my toothbrush under the water before lining the bristles with toothpaste. “Sit up,” I tell him as I crouch down next to him. He complies, and I take the empty water bottle before curling his fingers around the toothbrush. I grab some painkillers from the cabinet and fill the water bottle up from the sink. Then I dampen a washcloth as he spits into the toilet bowl. He brushes sluggishly and messily, and I have to bite my smile at the sight of toothpaste dribbling down his chin. “Open,” I say, cupping his chin with the washcloth. When he does as I
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