Bryce is alone in his room. He looks small and still on the hospital bed. Unnaturally still. When we sleep together, he's like a cat. Always trying to move closer to me, or slide into my arms, or nuzzle against my shoulder or my chest or my cheek. He likes to sleep on his belly or his side, and he throws his arms around my waist so he can hold on to me all night. He never sleeps like this.
