"You talk in your sleep," she whispered.
The first time it happened, it was a logistical accident.
A soft knock. Then Nora’s voice, low and dry. "Your father snores like a capsizing ship. And I’m not sleeping in that." share bed with stepmom
Leo poured a mug. "It’s fine. We make it work."
The moving truck had been late. So had the locksmith. By midnight, the two-bedroom apartment felt less like a blended family’s fresh start and more like a holding cell. Leo’s father, Mark, had taken the pullout couch—heroically, performatively—leaving the master bedroom to his new wife, Nora, and the tiny guest room to his son. "You talk in your sleep," she whispered
"I know."
The Fault Line
"I’m not your friend, either. Or your savior." A pause. "I’m just someone who got married too fast to a man who works nights, and now I share a bed with his son because we can’t afford a bigger place."