“It’s been a year,” he says, reaching for the switch.
“No,” she says from the edge of their bed where she sits, staring at the window.
“Please,” he whispers. “I need…”
“No,” she says again.
He lowers his hand and leaves the ceiling fan on for the three hundred sixty-fifth day in a row, not for the breeze that cools their bodies as they sleep fitfully each night, but because it makes the drapes move ever so slightly, as if their son is still giggling behind them the way he did the last time they all played ‘Hide and Seek’ together.