The footsteps stopped right outside the study door.

A thin line of yellow light from the hallway was visible under the door.

Then, the brass doorknob began to turn.

The brass handle clicked.

I stepped in front of the printer tray, shielding the warm sheets of paper with my body.

The door swung open slowly.

Ethan stood in the doorway, rubbing his eyes.

He wore his grey cotton pajamas, his hair messy from sleep.

“Clara?” he mumbled, squinting against the light of the desk lamp. “What are you doing up?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” I said.

My voice was steady, much steadier than my heart.

“What is that printing?” he asked, looking past my shoulder toward the desk.

“Just some tax documents for the accountant,” I said. “The quarterly filings are due next week.”

He nodded vaguely, his mind still clouded by sleep.

“You shouldn’t be working at three in the morning,” he said, stepping into the room.

“I’ll be up in a minute,” I replied, keeping my hands flat on the desk behind me.

He reached out and touched my arm.