She nods, already climbing onto the bed. Matthew settles beside her with the book we grabbed at the mall, and I slip out to the bathroom.
I stand at the sink for a second with both hands braced on the counter.
The face looking back at me from the mirror is someone I'm still getting used to. Older than I feel. Steadier than I feel right now, in this specific moment, with a child's laughter still ringing in my ears, a man I love reading her a bedtime story down the hall, and another man somewhere in this house carrying weapons and making plans to kill someone.
I grab the toothbrush. The toothpaste. Then I go back.
Matthew is reading in his low, even voice, and Charlie is watching him with the kind of attention she usually reserves for things she's decided matter. Her small hand rests on his forearm, light as a bird.
"And the princess realized," Matthew reads, "that she was brave enough all along. She just needed to believe in herself."
I lean against the doorframe again. Same position as before. Different feeling entirely.
"Time to brush your teeth," I say.
Charlie groans, slides off the bed, and grabs my hand.
After teeth and pajamas and the careful arrangement of every stuffed animal in a configuration only Charlie fully understands, she climbs under the covers and looks at us both.
"Can you leave the night-light on?" Small voice. "And the door open a little?"
"Absolutely."
Matthew bends down and presses a kiss to her forehead. "Good night, Charlie."
Her hand catches his wrist before he can straighten. "Will you check on me? In case I get scared?"
"I'll be right down the hall." He doesn't hesitate. "I'll check on you."
She nods. Then she turns to me and I know she is dying to ask me a question. She gathers her courage, finally asking me, "Ms. Morgan? Will you sing one more song?"
I sit on the edge of her bed. My hand finds her hair and brushes it back from her face. "What would you like to hear?"
"The one about the princess who finds her way home."
I start singing. The old lullaby my mother used to sing, the one I haven't thought about in years, the words coming back the way they always do, like they were never really gone. Matthew moves to the doorway. He leans against the frame with his arms crossed and watches us, and his expression is the kind that people don't usually let you see.
Charlie's breathing slows. Her grip on the unicorn loosens by degrees.
I finish the song, press my lips to her temple, and stand up carefully.
In the hallway, I pull the door most of the way closed. The night-light throws a thin line of gold across the floor.
Matthew is still watching the gap in the door.
"She's precious," he says. Not loud. Not soft. Just true.
"Yeah." I start walking toward the stairs. "She is."
He falls into step beside me, close enough that his shoulder brushes mine. Neither of us says anything else until we reach the kitchen, where the smell of coffee tells me Trenton has been awake this whole time doing what Trenton does when he can't sleep, making plans and pretending it's just coffee.
He looks up when we come in. Reads our faces the way he always reads our faces.
"She's down?"
"Finally." Matthew pulls out a chair and drops onto it. "She made me negotiate a peace treaty with a stuffed dinosaur."
Trenton's mouth does the thing it does when he's trying not to smile. "How'd that go?"