From earlier this week.

We read a chapter a night. He crashes halfway through, his head in my lap and my non-book hand smoothing his hair. I stay there, watching his lidded REM eyes dart back and forth. Is he dreaming? A nightmare? And if it is a nightmare, can he still sense me here? If sitting here until my back is stiff would keep his dreams free of the monsters that never stop chasing him, I’d do it. I’d stay up all night to slay his dragons... and hopefully in time teach him that he can slay them on his own.
I wonder if he will ever know how his stories break my heart, or how his grateful grin at being cared for melts it all back together again, over and over a hundred times.

 If there is one thing I must achieve, it is convincing him that he deserves better.