Squeezing her hand was a good sign. That's what Tara told herself when he didn't wake up for the longest time, when he would squeeze her hand but he'd stay asleep. Bending forward, she pressed her lips to scraped and bandaged knuckles, and pressed her forehead to the back of his hand before she moved to sit upright again.

He opened his eyes and her face twisted, and she shook her head, trying not to cry when she found words. "No, baby. No, you're not in trouble." She reached out with her free hand, and very gently touched his cheek, featherlight, her fingers avoiding the bruises. "You're safe. You're in the hospital." She didn't know how much he'd forgotten.