She tells herself a bedtime story, tucking herself in tightly. She is alone, not lonely. The king size bed grows enormous under her shaking body. She is just cold, she is not lonely. The year was hard and the decisions she had to make were harder still. She wrestles with her subconscious, refusing to feel guilt. She pulls the blankets up tighter to her chin, considers turning up the heat. She decides it’s too cold to get out of bed. She conjures up another story, something warm. The beach. She can hear the waves pounding against the shoreline, she smells the salty breeze as it tingles her skin. She lets the story take her as she drifts away.