Tomorrow was waiting. And the day after. And the day after. And then the day after that. Only so many reprieves until my next depression. But that was tomorrow, tomorrow, and tomorrow. There were a lot of nows before then, and this was one of them. I looked down at Darian, who had drifted effortlessly into blissful, heedless sleep, just as he had that first time in Brighton. And, in the privacy of that fragile, fleeting moment, I found myself smiling, just a little.
