A normal night.
That was what made it difficult to understand when my body suddenly stopped cooperating.
I remember setting my fork down.
I remember looking across the table at Noah and seeing confusion on his face.
Then the room shifted.
The next thing I knew, my cheek was against the cold tile of the kitchen floor.
I could hear.
I could feel.
But I could not move the way I wanted to.
I heard Daniel leave the room.
I heard his voice on the phone.
The words were not loud, but they were enough.
He spoke like someone who believed there was no one left listening.
After that moment, every second became a choice.
I stayed still when he came back.
I stayed still when he checked my wrist.
I stayed still when he moved near Noah.
The hardest part was hearing him speak gently.
Danger did not sound angry.
It sounded calm.
It sounded careful.
When Daniel walked away and the garage door closed, I opened my eyes.
Noah opened his at the same time.
We did not hug.
