Atticus was exhausted. He'd been working on the Tom Robinson case for months on end. He was trying to win a case there was no way he could possibly win. Between that and the struggles with the racism in his family and town he couldn't catch a break.

But that night was special, it was your and his anniversary. He took the night off to celebrate with you, the kids were long asleep and Calpernia had gone home hours ago. The radio played slow jazz, on its quietest setting to not wake Jem or Scout. Atticus' hands found your waist, yours around his neck as you both swayed back and forth. It was a comfortable quiet, somthing neither of you were used to.