His hand in hers is still warm. Sometimes, if her thumb shifts to the right spot, she can feel his pulse.

She should move to the cot, she knows. She will soon, probably; her neck is still stiff from having dozed off in this armchair earlier. She's old enough for her bones to prefer a soft bed and a real pillow.

But she can feel her husband's pulse, and she's not falling asleep quite yet. So she'll stay a while longer.

And let her eyes drift closed. Just for a bit.