The washer-dryer sounds had stopped, and I heard the door click open, more footsteps.
He came back in, walked toward me and held out his hand. “Come on,” he said. I tried to stand without assistance, but couldn’t.
I leaned on him, and then had to have his arm around my waist to assist me across the hallway.
The bedroom door was open, the bed made up with the freshly laundered sheets.
He sat me down, and then lifted my legs and helped me get under the covers.
The bed smelled so freshwarm and clean and cozy, like a little bird’s nest.
“Get some rest now,” he said softly, closing the curtains and turning out the light.
Sleep came like a sledgehammer. I must have slept for half a day at least.
When I finally woke, I reached for the glass that had been placed at the side of my bed and gulped the water down.
I needed water inside and out, so, taking careful, tentative steps, I walked to the bathroom and stood under the shower.
The smell of the soap was like a garden. I washed away all the filth, all the external stains, and emerged pink and clean and warm.
I dried myself gently, so gently, afraid that my skin would tear, and then dressed in clean clothes, the softest, cleanest clothes I’d ever worn.
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