You sit by the dresser, your hair neatly done and clothes as lovely as always. You bring your lipstick up, swiping it over your lip with practiced eased. Briefly, your eyes flicker to Jean through the mirror; he remains comfortably in bed with the perfect view of you, a subtle smile on his lightly reddened face.

It’s endearing, his silent adoration as if you are some gift from the heavens.

"You're so pretty..." The words pass his lips, the first words he's said all morning.