Clint was there, just as always, though it had taken a little longer than expected. He was clearly exhausted and needed more sleep, and she wished she wouldn’t have bothered with the bucket and had gone to the washroom instead. Maybe then she wouldn’t have woken him at all.

When she had stopped retching she stayed still, hugging the bucket and trying to even her breathing. It was here, the morning was here, but it was still early. She had hoped to sleep through as late as possible so there would be less time to fret.

Grabbing the bottle of water she took a mouthful and swished it around before spitting it into the bucket. “It’s still early. Go back to sleep,” she said, her voice strained and scratchy.